


The Soulmate Continuum

by ThyFebruaryFace



Category: Bleach
Genre: 686 Redemption, Angst and Humor, Dysfunctional soulmates, F/M, Flashbacks, I live in denial, Ichiruki, Multichaptered, Pining, Post-Canon, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Trying to pass it off as reality, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThyFebruaryFace/pseuds/ThyFebruaryFace
Summary: / Some days Rukia thinks death is the easier way out. But then he looks her way, eyes bright, face smiling and then she realizes she is already living dying. /





	1. The Not Really First Meeting

_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

  
_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved_

  
_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._  


_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

Rukia has always known herself to be strange.

Stranger than the humanity surrounding her every morning on the streets, every afternoon on the campus, every evening in the café; flowing and parting in waves of diversity, leaving whispers, laughter, hurried footsteps, in its wake. Stranger than the balding man who routinely shows up at the door next to hers, pacing and mumbling and longingly staring it down before making his way back. Stranger than the freckle faced kid who talks to swings and slides in the garden that can be overlooked from her window. Stranger than her brother-in-law who endorses the kids’ idol “Seaweed man” with the same stoicism he deals his petrified clients.

Well, some habits die hard. Apparently even when crossing over a lifetime.

She looks to her right, where a girl is peacefully snoozing off, her blonde locks splayed and drool collecting on her open notebook. The professor is droning about Egypt and hieroglyphics and trade, his voice soothing almost the entire class to sleep. There is little she can say in her defence, the bunny doodles spilling all over her notes. She does not find the subject boring, no, and nor him, but maybe Mr. Higgins could do with a voice a little less benign and maybe a bit more rousing.

She thinks of her piano, the symphonies playing in her mind. A glance at the clock shows she is mere five minutes away from recreating the music filling the insides of her mind with her fingers in that dusty, rarely visited on campus room.

Five minutes lag on, slow but sure, and the bell has barely finished ringing before the entirety of her class rouses from the spell of the languor, hurriedly shifting and pushing and filing out the doors into the sea of students. Rukia takes her time, carefully arranging back the chappy pencils in her box, _one two and three_ , side by side, picking her shoulder bag and making her way ahead of the last few students lingering about into the long, beige walled corridors.

She is thinking of the 55th Chappy anniversary festival bonanza beginning in a week at the Karakura Mall to the highs and lows of Beethoven’s fifth symphony floating in her head, and even though her eyes are trained ahead, she is looking and not seeing, body dodging people and lockers out of mapped memory of weeks.

And for some reason, her eyes suddenly focus, focus on a ginger head – no wait, orange, that is a ridiculously bright mop of orange, and a ringing begins in her ears. Beethoven notes bleed into this cacophony, chappy’s face disperses into nothing, and her entire being is filled with vibrations so immense she stumbles and keels over. It is not unfamiliar, it is not shocking, it is not scary, but it is ridiculously loud compared to the other times, and she is afraid, so very afraid of letting her eyes map out the face atop which rests that bright orange mane, but much like the other times, this is not in her control either.

So her eyes follow the tan complexion, climbing across the frown to the amber eyes, to the thin lips, to the clothed flat chest, to the strong biceps covered in white cap sleeves, to the denim-ed legs carrying him towards her.

Her breathing is getting shallower, the ringing louder, the vibrations stronger, and when she snaps her eyes back to his face, that scowling face is flashing in her mind, in front of her eyes, just not scowling, but smiling, then grinning, then crying, then yelling, then glaring, then saddening, then calling, then laughing, and then those lips are opening, mouthing _R-u-k-i-a-_

And then she knows she can’t distinguish reality from memories anymore, so she stumbles back, one step two steps three steps and squeezes her eyes shut, turning around and blindly charging into the thinning crowd, far, far away from him.

Her brain is weighing from all the buried memories and feelings gushing over, floodgates of emotional hell wrecked open by a man she doesn’t know in this life, but knew in the last one. It is so strong, the whiplash, the waves, the flood, that she knows he is different, he is not her brother, nor Renji, nor Kaien, nor her squad-

He is Ichigo.

And in this life, he is her soulmate.

_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

_“Congratulations on your wedding.”_

_Rukia opens her eyes, the surprise in them thinly veiled. She twists her head from where it is resting in the grass to the left, seeing him standing there, in all his Ichigo glory, not looking a day older from when she last saw him._

_Two years ago._

_There is suddenly a rock weighing heavily in her chest, the rock she thought had faded into nothing from the happiness of her marriage._

_“You never showed up for it.”_

_Ichigo is giving her that smile, the one he did the first time she told him she wanted to stay back in Soul Society. And then that smile is gone, replaced by a lopsided smirk._

_“I was busy getting married myself.”_

_Rukia rolls her eyes. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. But you didn’t have to go so far.”_

_Now he is scowling. “I didn’t marry to copy you, stupid.”_

_“I know.” She grins. “How is Inoue?”_

_“She’s good.” A pause. “Yuzu keeps bugging about you. Says it’s been a while since she saw you.”_

_“That was such a roundabout way of saying you miss me.”_

_“What? That was not-”_

_“Lies. Such lieeeeeees.” Rukia sings, smile on her face and laughter in her eyes._

_But for some reason, the rock remains in her chest and if she listens closely, she can feel it sinking further in._

_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

_Word: **Soulmate** , noun._

_A person you are emotionally bound to in your present life, whose unconditional love you repaid with betrayal in your previous life._

_Scriptures dating back to the earliest known civilizations call this ‘karmic cycle’. In more recent times, studies have shown a metaphysical connection of past life with the present._

_Soulmates exist only for the ones expected to ‘repent’. The repenting person will be emotionally bound to his soulmate for life, but the soulmate shall not experience any such reciprocating pull._

_Scientists believe this completes the so called ‘karmic cycle’. The wrong done to another is received in turn. Once the repenting person has lived his life loving his soulmate one-sidedly, the bond is terminated and both parties are no longer bound to each other._

_Various persons have reported-_

Rukia shuts her laptop.

_Un-fucking-believable._

The silence in the library is deafening in the wake of this terrifying realization. She has read up on this word multiple times in the past hour. Tried every site, every dictionary, every book that has promised knowledge to the contrary.

_Maybe this is a panic attack I am having. Or maybe I just found him so unbelievably hot that my brain short-circuited._

She sighs.

But her memories cannot be a lie. The face she saw in those moments cannot be a lie. The memory she flashed is not a lie. The smell of wet grass, the heaviness in her chest, the confusion in her heart – if she closes her eyes long enough, she can almost taste the moment on her skin.

More than anything, this feeling cannot be a lie.

There is a wave in her, surging uncontrollably with the need to see him. She ran away from him, but her heart is aching to find him again. There is this ridiculous curiosity about him eclipsing all other thoughts; her mind is blank save for his name – Ichigo.

What music does he listen to? Which is his favourite colour? What makes him laugh? How many siblings does he have? Where does he hangout on weekends? What does he do in his free time? Does he always scowl? Does he watch crime thrillers? Is he a book buff?

She places a hand on her chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of her shirt in a half-hearted attempt to calm her wildly racing heart.

“Hey.”

And then her chair’s falling backwards, eyes widening, hands flailing, and she makes unsuccessful attempts to stay upright -

Which, like every recycled rom-com, are cut off by the intruder holding off her chair.

Her eyes close and she inhales deeply. _One, two, three, one, two, three, it’s okay, not falling, not fallen_ -

“Hey.” The voice is closer, mild confusion radiating off it. “Are you okay?”

Her heart nearly stops; she knows that voice.

Her brain is blaring alarms, and yet her eyes flicker open in unabashed disobedience.

There is a face leaning over hers, all sun-kissed skin and frown lines. She can see the light stubble on his chin, count the flecks of light in his eyes, taste the minty breath on her skin –

She gets up abruptly, successfully knocking him back with her forehead. This elicits an unappreciative grunt, which she promptly ignores, too busy opening the browser tabs and deleting her search history. She is nearly done shouldering her bag, and the exit is a mere eleven feet away-

“What the hell!”

-but her stupid, stupid feet are glued to the spot and for the life of her, she cannot get them to move. Her will to escape vanishes when another painful grunt sounds from behind her, and then she knows, she knows she is doomed, there is no getting out of this. So she takes a deep breath, counts one chappy two chappies three chappies and whirls around to angry, simmering, amber eyes.

“Hi.” She can only hope it does not come out as breathless as she feels.

Ichigo is looking her, annoyance mixed with confusion, but mostly annoyance. He opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again. There is silence, an awkward one, and Rukia is taking this time to drink the sight of him in.

He is wearing a white t-shirt with _Sure, Just Not Until I’ve Had My Coffee_ printed in bold Impact font. His jeans are jet black, a silver chain circling his left pocket and there is an evident bulge on the right pocket which she guesses is his phone. There is a red and white plaid cotton jacket hanging off his right arm, a beige backpack shouldered on his back. His sneakers are white with black streaks, and she can see them shifting right and left as though undecided. When her eyes trail up towards his face, she sees amber eyes, the flecks noticeable now that she has discovered them, and they seems to cluster together to form a constellation she can spend her life tracing.

She does not remember him.

There are flashes of someone with his face and his hair and his eyes, coloured in the memories of another time, but that’s all. No matter how much she stares him down, her brain comes up with nothing. Some wild instinct – or maybe a buried memory – tells her his name is Ichigo, the recollection of which does nothing to jolt any other memory.  
And yet, her eyes are growing warm, her chest heaving, her fingers twitching to touch him. He feels like the mirage of an oasis in a desert. An illusion of the past, a past she has no memory of, but overwhelmingly irresistible, her body seeking it like a familiar comfort. And she is dying, dying of the urge to touch him once and just-just-

“You are weird.” His mumbling voice drifts over, and Rukia hits a brake on her urges. There it is, her hand, halfway extended towards him, palms outstretched, fingers trembling.

“I-I,” what? What? “I am leaving. Good talk. Bye.”

And then she turns away from him and runs.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Nice meeting you, Rukia Kuchiki.”

Rukia looks up from her plate of greens at the raven-haired man placing his food opposite hers, confidently seating himself with the air of someone who has done it a million times before.

Her hand holding the fork pauses from where it has been twirling the veggies as she concentrates on this intruder. Black hair, glasses, tall, lanky frame, insincere expression.

Nope. No flashes. Not this life, not the previous one. “You are-?”

“Ishida Uryu.” He places a napkin in between, almost as a piece offering. “We share Biology 351.”

A class with one-fifty students, she thinks. The whole unremarkable appearance not helping jog her memory either.

He gives her a small, calculated smile. “Humour me? I feel like making new acquaintances.”

Rukia looks back at her plate. “You don’t seem like someone who’d make an acquaintance for no reason.”

“That’s a smart observation.”

Annoyance is beginning to replace mild curiosity. “So what do you want?”

He adjusts his glasses, because of course, that’s a classic novel-style move, and Rukia is thinking she needs to cut down on her fiction reading for a while, when suddenly his eyes are trained on her.

“I need your help.”

Curiosity wins. “With?”

“I need you to help me with psychology.”

What? “Wait what? Me? Why?”

“You have the top grades in that lecture.”

“And you know this because?”

“A man in dire need of resources would take every effort to seek them out.”

It is a lousy excuse, so absurd that she half expects a justification, a cover-up. Except that never comes. He is just sitting there, looking her in the eye, small smile plastered on his face.

Because that’s exactly how it looks. Something cut from another face and stuck imperfectly on his.

She gets up. “I don’t believe it.”

“I need it for a Soulmates Continuum experiment.”

The plate slips and her hands flail about for a few seconds, trying to catch it. Her fingers manage to shakily grip it, the veggies pausing in their down town slide.

She inhales deeply, trying to calm her heart and gather her thoughts.

He is still watching her from his seat, smile in place. His eyes are a blue sea of calm, almost purring satisfaction. “I am performing a project for this semester.” he begins, breaking his bread into two halves. “Would you like to hear about it?”

_Run_ , her brain screams.

She stays, narrowing her eyes at him. “You have a minute to explain.”

He shrugs, noiselessly biting into the bread. “Fair enough,” he mumbles, making an effort to chew. His eyes are back on her. “I am a psychology major. I work part-time in the research lab of the university. Given your reaction, I am guessing you are aware that our university is affiliated with the NSCP - National Soulmate Continuum Project. As a part of my academic course this semester, I plan on conducting a series of experiments to explore one extremity of the whole soulmate-” he pauses, jaw working around for a few moments. “Phenomenon. Interested enough?”

Rukia is still standing. “And you need me because?”

“I need a second brain to keep questioning and brain-storming. An A grader in psychology labs would work wonderfully.”

“There are at least seven other students.”

The smile grows. “None as approachable.”

Rukia rolls her eyes. “I can introduce you to them.”

“None of them would be as interested.”

“And what makes you think I am?”

There is a premonition, digging at the edges of her consciousness, and she knows she asked the wrong question, because he is saying-

“You have a soulmate.”

This time, she lets the plate fall.

“You don’t want your soulmate, do you?” he trudges on, eyes trained on her. “I could help you with that.”

“Right.” To her credit, Rukia maintains a calm, almost conversational tone.

“Is that a yes?”

She looks away from him, down, at the spilled plate. Bending down, she places all the carrots and capsicums, piece by piece, counts of one two three flitting in her head. Once everything dry and salvageable is in her plate, she straightens up, fixing the dark-haired boy with the worst look she can muster.

“No. Because I don’t have a soulmate.”

Her heart is hammering in blatant disregard, but she turns around anyway, walking away before he can get another word in.

She knows it was the wrong move when Ishida Uryu finds her again in biology the next day, sliding next to her on the bench.

“I know Ichigo Kurosaki is your soulmate.”

“Don’t know anyone with that name.” she lies. Her brain is screaming bloody murder and playing background score of how did he know how did he know how did he know-

She can see him raising an eyebrow at her, from the edges of her vision. “Do you not, now.”

“You need to leave before I punch you.” She lies again. Half-lies, given the direction of the conversation.

“I may be able to help you live a normal soulmate-less life.”

She can’t help the snort that escapes her. “That sounds like murder.”

“By helping you nullify your bond.”

She slams her book shut and gets up. “I am out of here. Don’t try to find me again.”

He finds her again anyway, later in the day in the piano room, because he is an asshole of the persistent variety. It is late afternoon, few students milling around on the campus, and the piano room is silent, awash with a calmness Rukia has grown to crave. It quietens the constant buzz in her head and makes her feel almost normal. Like any other girl, playing the keys to the rhythm in her soul.

“You should reconsider it.” Ishida is saying, daintily wiping the sweat collecting on his brows with a napkin. “This will be beneficial for you. I want to conduct this experiment to help people like you.”

Rukia has half a mind to sock him in the face, and her hand is raised to hit him where he is standing next to her seat-

“- And people like my father.”

Her hand pauses mid-air, almost jerkily retracting, and she looks at him. Looks at him, properly, his strained eyes, grimacing mouth, till her ears start ringing, and there is a flash, the same face, the same glasses, the same hair, smiling smugly, all white clothes, a bow and arrow, holding out a green dress, lips mouthing Kuchiki-san-

She knew this man. The way she knew Renji, the way she knew her brother, the way she knew Kaien… the way she knew Ichigo.

Her hand retracts completely. Warmth courses through her body, like hot chocolate in her hands on a winter day. All wariness scarily dissipates into nothingness, instincts overtaking her brain commands. Her heart is calm, body relaxing, and as beautiful as the sensation is, she can’t bring herself to bask in it.

He must notice the change, for his eyebrows furrow, studying her with wariness.

As he should be.

“No.” she grits out, when a few moments pass and it is clear that he is not going to be saying anything. “This has nothing to do with me.”

He stays silent. And then, in the most surprising turn of events, shrugs and bows slightly.

“I will respect your decision. But if you change your mind, let me know.”

She thinks, finally.

_x-x-x-x-x-x_

_“Do you like the outfit, Kuchiki-san?”_

_She can hear the smugness in his voice, and it reminds of her how much this riles Ichigo, and she nearly laughs. “I love it.” She says, turning around to look at Ishida, whose_ _smug smile is melting into a warmer one._

_“I am glad, then. Very surprised that your brother was alright with this, though.”_

_She nods, recalling her brother’s grimace, the first time she told him about getting her wedding kimono stitched by Ishida. Hisana’s wedding kimono had been her first choice, but there are so many feelings attached to that kimono, the weight of which she and Byakuya were in over their heads to bear._

_Her palms caress the kimono’s material, feeling its smoothness. This is going to be her wedding dress. She is going to be marrying her lifelong friend, in less than two weeks._

_Before the uncharacteristic giddiness filling her chest can show on her face, Ishida’s voice cuts in. “I stitched a similar one for Inoue.”_

_She looks at him this time. His eyes are giving away nothing, but the smile on his face is no longer. His gaze is stuck on where her palm meets the kimono’s fabric and she knows he isn’t seeing her right now. “She also loved it.”_

_And she thinks, not for the first time, how brave humans are._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

That weekend Renji shows up with twin lattes at her apartment, never mind that it is seven a.m. in the freaking morning and Rukia has barely caught two hours of shut eye. He lets himself in with the spare key, making his way through the silence of the house and gawking stupidly on finding her blinking up blearily at the ceiling.

Rukia is a morning person, really, she is; by now she’d be singing and twirling to tropical chancer in sync with the whirring of her vaccum throughout the house. But she is not, no thanks to the week from hell that was, with the supernatural karmic bonds and reincarnation overload. Last night was an unsuccessful attempt in dozing off, and she can’t figure out whether she spent the night sleeping or dreaming with open eyes.

“You are on bed.”

She glares at Renji. “No shit, Sherlock.”

His eyebrows go higher. “And you are grouching out on me.”

“Yes, your point?” she snarls.

He shrugs, placing the coffees on dresser next to her bed. His eyes rake over her bedraggled appearance, the twisted sheets and he grins. “Ms. Perfection Incarnate had a sleepless night in New York?”

He should have seen the pillow coming for his face. “Shut up.” She grumbles, leaning heavily on her elbows and blinking at the vestiges of sunlight filtering through the spaces in the curtains. It is an exercise of herculean proportions to get herself to sit upright and with that accomplished, she swings her feet off to one side of the bed, sighing.  
Renji places himself next to her, concern colouring his voice. “You okay?”

There is silence for a few moments while Rukia contemplates on what to tell him. She licks her lips, tasting the morning breath on her tongue and sighs. Her hands reach for the breath mints aligned with the lamp on the dresser, and she pops two in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“I might have found my soulmate,” she begins slowly, looking at the cream tiles beneath her swinging feet.

Even as she says it, she knows it is a lie.

“What?” Renji’s voice is a mix between the what-I-didn’t-hear-you and what-are-you-for-real?

“I flashed on him,” she continues, her eyes trailing from where the floor meets the wall, crawling up its expanse of pinkness. They fix on a framed portrait of her and her brother, dressed in formal black tie event clothes, smiling faces staring back at her. She vividly remembers the day it was taken, a good four years ago, back when memory flashes had been the stuff of magic and role-play.

She looks at Renji when he garbles an incredulity filled “What?!”

Her fingers find his, and she breathes in his familiar cologne. “And I met someone who wants to make me a guinea pig for his NSCP experiments.”

“Wait, wait,” Renji is shaking his head, concern and confusion swimming in the blood red of his eyes. “You found your soulmate? And you flashed on him?”

“Maybe. Yes.”

“How do you know he is your soulmate?”

His eyes mirror the confusion in her heart, and she has to remind herself to breathe. “I just do. I can’t explain it, and maybe, oh god, I pray I am wrong, but it feels just the way they all describe it. ”

Renji is spluttering now. “If you think it’s the flashes of memories, it means nothing. You experienced the same thing with me and Byakuya and Kaien-”

“This flash was different. The feelings I had when I flashed on him- ” her mouth runs dry and she has words, she does, but she doesn’t want to say them out loud, make this more real than it already is, and so she finishes with a strangled “- it felt different.”

Renji is silent. He looks torn between irritation and concern, the expression on his face very baboon like. In any other situation, Rukia would probably laugh at him, shove a mirror in his face, but in this moment, she simply stares at him, waiting for him to tell her how to walk away from this.

His eyes find hers, and she can see the gears turning in his mind.

“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.

She doesn’t answer.

He grunts a little, and pulls her into a rough hug. “We are spending today researching this shit and proving your over-reactive imagination wrong.”

She smiles into his embrace, lightly smacking his arm. They sit there for a long time, comfortable, easy and familiar; and not for the first time Rukia wonders just why she couldn’t fall in love with Renji in this life as well.

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

_“Rukia.”_

_“_ _Hm?” she looks at Renji. His face is a little red, sweat trailing down his forehead, eyes flitting about like a shoplifting kid._

_The one she had encountered in the Living World had been pulling it off much better though. That had been one hell of an afternoon that ended with a red-faced Ichigo, an annoyed police officer and a smug kid._

_But she knows Renji is no shoplifter, not anymore and she wonders if the sun is getting to him. They have been out all afternoon, clashing swords and practising kido spells._

_He looks nervous, though. And his fidgeting is beginning to irritate her._

_So she smacks his head upside down._

_“What the fuck!” he grunts in annoyance, glaring daggers her way._

_“Spit it out!” she yells back, equally irritated. The heat is beginning to get to her too, it seems._

_“Spit what out?!”_

_“I know you want to say something. So say it.”_

_“How do you know-”_

_“I am going to go bakudo on your ass right this moment-”_

_“Will you marry me?”_

_For one moment, everything goes blank. Rukia heard him; she thinks she heard herself asking “what” but she is not too sure. Her brain is busy processing Renji’s sullen face, his slumped stance. He is looking at her with uncertainty, and his eyes remind her of the time she first told him about moving away to the Kuchiki manor._

_And somehow, somehow she knows that if she says the wrong thing, he is going to smile at her the way he did back then, pat her, and let her go._

_He is already beginning to backtrack; she can see the smile which is all shades of wrong blooming on his face._

_“You don’t have to answer me right now.”_

_He pats her on the arm._

_“I will be waiting. Take your time. But if it is a no,” he pauses, and he is so close she can hear him swallow, “tell me right now.”_

_Rukia thinks back on when she first met Renji. They were both kids, homeless, loveless, manner-less. Petty thieves, transformed into spirits with a humanitarian streak on loss of their loved ones. In the shivering rains, the harsh sunlight, the bloody confrontations, the steal jobs, the academy trainings – they had always, always been together. Except for those few odd years in between, he had always been by her side, standing back, letting her wage her wars, but there to catch her. Always watching out for her, chasing her when she got too far away-_

_There is a heat blooming in her chest, probably on her cheeks too, but she knows. This is natural. This is what their friendship had been leading up to. Renji has always felt like home; comfortable and familiar. Being with him was as easy as breathing, and she wonders why it took her so long to realise this._

_She clutches his arm, fighting the smile blossoming on her face._

_Her eyes find his, and she says the magic words._

_“Of course, stupid.”_

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_


	2. When You Try Fail Running

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

_I would like to be the air,_

_that inhabits you for a moment only,_

_I would like to be that unnoticed,_

_and that necessary._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

 

 

 

Nothing comes of their research.

They spend the whole of weekend holed up in the neighbourhood cyber café, reading up on sites, comparing notes, researching theories, but nothing they wish to believe turns up. The experiences shared by people on uncertified forums, organised interviews on the certified reports, all confirm Rukia and Renji’s worst fears. There are people who talk of the symptoms of finding their soulmates, of the pain of watching them from afar. There are also those who got too close and ended up with restraining orders. By sunday evening, Renji is so irritated he almost breaks the computer and Rukia is saved the embarrassment by an unexpected call from Momo Hinamori, high school classmate and friend.

“I need help,” her voice gushes hurriedly, and Rukia instinctively raises her eyebrows.

Momo had been one of her only friends in school, apart from Renji. She was cuteness personified, a Chihuahua trapped in human body, and the school topper.

Rukia had, of course, flashed on her as well. But the flashes had been restricted, just the same smiling face, and a memory of both of them striding someplace in Japanese hakushos. The ringing had been softer, and that was the first time Rukia had realised her flashes were different for people she had not known very well in her previous life.

It had been a while since Rukia had heard from her, them having gone their separate ways. They were still friends, occasionally catching up whenever their schedules matched, and Momo had the uncanny ability to socialise in a way that made the time gaps seemingly disappear.

“I am failing Literature so bad and so I am getting tutored by this really smart guy I don’t know and it’s kind of freaky and Shiro is not free and I heard he is majoring from your university and I need you to come and just sit and make it less awkward.” There is a deep inhale from across the phone, and Rukia blinks her eyes. She wants to ask Momo to repeat, but also kind of doesn’t want to. Renji is giving her strange looks, his fingers flexing from where they had been gripping the computer.

Momo solves the problem for her. “Meet me monday evening at Le15, five p.m.? Great, see you there!” and just like that, the dial tone is blaring in Rukia’s ears. She thinks she is annoyed, but mostly disoriented, like a hurricane carried her over and suddenly dropped her in the middle of nowhere. Renji anchors her by lightly punching her arm, his disgruntled expression deepening.

“Momo called,” she says by way of explanation, and Renji nods. “Coffee?”

Rukia smirks.

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

_“Do you believe in soulmates?”_

_Rukia looks up at Momo, albeit startled. This is a strange conversation topic for someone only two meetings old, but the brunette’s eyes are trained on her face, eyebrows furrowed and clenched palms on her chest._

_“Um,” Rukia starts, and then pauses, deciding offense is the best way to go. “Do you?”_

_She expects an argument, but gets bright eyes and excited jumping in turn. “I do! They have to exist. I think there is someone you share a bond, a destiny with. That person you meet in this lifetime, will be someone you have known in a different life. You have something, this spark, this-”her hands are gesturing wildly, flecks in her eyes dancing, “undeniable pull towards him. They are irreplaceable, and every moment is breathless yet calming. You love them in a way you will never love anyone else, and it’s a love that doesn’t die with death.”_

_Rukia thinks of the little kids she befriended during her childhood, and her mind conjures up the image of them dying at the hands of the monstrous hollow. She thinks of the parents she never had the chance to meet. She thinks of Renji, and the last time they met which ended in an unanticipated farewell. She thinks of the noble aristocrat of her ‘brother’ who has adopted her but refuses to spare one glance her way, too grief struck to stare at the reflection of someone he once loved._

_And she knows._

_“I think I would rather not have a soulmate.” Rukia says quietly._

_“What?” Momo gasps, her eyes widening. “Why not?”_

_Rukia is silent for a while. It is too personal to say to someone she barely knows, but her lips yield when she looks at that unassuming face. “It would be painful to stay with someone who you love as you breathe, knowing he could leave you one day. Whether willingly or not.”_

_Momo is not saying anything, just looking at her with a softness that rubs Rukia the wrong way. So she has to add, “Not saying I won’t marry for love,” she smiles slightly, “but that person probably won’t be my soulmate.”_

_Decades later, when Kaien dies in her arms, Rukia knows she was right._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

_ Sourwolf15 _ _**asks:** _

_How did you know he / she was your soulmate?_

**_Answers:_ **

  1. _Princesspowers,_ _I am a wanderer in the land of unrequited (45k views, 23k votes)_



_The moment I saw him, I stopped breathing. In the most literal sense of the word._

_We were on either sides of the road. There were people around, your regular busy weekday, but there he was, a zebra crossing away, and the moment my eyes met his a migraine the size of a hurricane hit me. My brain started spinning, there was suddenly an acute lack of oxygen, and I couldn’t breathe anymore. For some strange reason, my eyes warmed up with tears and I nearly collapsed there, on the very sidewalk itself… (read more)_

  1. _Redknotbitch_ _, day sassy, night sassy, all time sass (39k views, 20k votes)_



_Well. I thought I was having a heart failure._

_Your breath falls short. Your heart starts hammering like crazy. Your brain feels like it is splitting. Your limbs are frozen, suddenly heavy lead. And no, it is not a crush, because unlike when you see a crush, on seeing your soulmate a) you literally start dying, without actually reaching death. b) you know. You just do. It is difficult to explain to someone who has never had a soulmate, but you know it instinctively from within, like a voice inside you blaring through loudspeakers._

_It is the strongest instinct you will ever have._

Rukia sighs.

She is walking towards the coffee shop, dressed warmly in leggings and an oversized plaid shirt. Autumn is beginning to die, giving way to cooler mornings and colder nights. She gets cold very easily, but winter is her favourite time of the year. The feel of the breeze nipping at her skin, snowfall blanketing the city in its brilliant white, creates in her an inexplicable ecstasy. Maybe it is the snow angels, she thinks.

She locks her phone screen and pockets it on reaching the coffee shop. The bell chimes as she pushes open the door, walking into the warmth of hustle bustle and the strong smell of caffeine hits her nostrils. Instinctively she inhales deeply, smiling a little. Her taste buds are already salivating in anticipation of the latte, and she makes her way to the coffee counter, eyes scouring the chalk board. There is no line at the counter, and so she quickly places an order, biting a smirk when the guy behind the counter asks for a name and she says “Death god.”

It’s an internal joke. Between herself and herself… from the other life.

She is very disappointed when the guy at the counter spares her a dull look before shrugging and scrawling the name on her cup. Huffing slightly, she readjusts the shoulder strap of her side bag, looking around the coffee shop to find Momo.

Her eyes find Ichigo.

Who is staring back at...her?

_OH MY GOD._

Her heart beats go out of sync, sweat beginning to build on her forehead. She forces herself to breathe in, and then out, and then in, and then out, resolutely tearing her gaze away from his and stomping towards the other end of the counter to collect her coffee. The coffee guy shouts “Death God” before she can reach, and she just wants the floor to swallow her up now. Ichigo would have definitely heard that, he is sitting only two tables away, near the window.

“Rukia?”

Momo’s confused voice slices through her internal yelling session, and immense relief floods Rukia’s senses. Momo is here, her saviour, she could almost kiss Momo right now-

Till she whips her head around, finding Momo seated opposite Ichigo, her back twisted to face Rukia.

There is silence. A silence so profound, so long, her brain scouting Momo’s words from the conversation the day before, painstakingly arranging and rearranging the words _tutored, this guy I don’t know, your university, Ichigo._

When it clicks, and when she is done having a heart attack, her brain moves on to making plans of escape.

“Death god?” the guy at the coffee counter asks, just as loud as before, and Rukia knows her stars are not aligned the right way today.

So she grabs the coffee and makes her way to Momo, resolutely avoiding looking in Ichigo’s direction.

“Hey,” she says, and almost winces at the gravel undertones of her voice.

Momo is smiling at her, eyebrows scrunching in light bemusement. “Are you… okay…?”

Rukia wonders if her heartbeats are drumming heavy metal in everyone else’s ears as well. “Of course. Why would you ask that?” And then, in a move that has her brain screaming _what the fuck_ , she turns to look at Ichigo, working up the biggest smile she can. “You must be her tutor. Nice meeting you. I am Rukia, a friend of Momo’s.”

She finishes it off with a polite nod - she is not sure if she can sit unscathed through a handshake - quickly turning back to face Momo and tune out Ichigo’s rapidly scowling face.

“So I have this paper I need to prepare for. You guys carry on, I will just,” she drops her bag on the table, removes her headphones, tapping them rhythmically, “carry on my reading. Peace out.”

Momo opens her mouth to say something, her lips fumbling unsurely, before she exhales, shaking her head and fixing Rukia with a look that tells Rukia everything she needed to know about her luck at winning an Academy.

She thinks the worst is over, now she just has to sit a few hours in her soulmate’s presence firmly denying his existence, but life is never that easy. Her hands have barely taken out the thick bound _Plato: The Sun,_ when the voice she knows by heart speaks up. “You are rude.”

She knows she should be offended, maybe throw a few choice words, but her skin is tingling with the awareness of _his_ eyes fixated on her and her heart is somersaulting to the tune of _yay he spoke to me!_ With great effort she stomps down the urge to smile, thinking whether to pretend she never heard him-

“Are you even alright up there?”

And then her head is whipping around, eyes glaring daggers at Ichigo. “Excuse me?”

He is scowling at her, and _oh god_ , his eyes are the dying embers of fire. “You have been strangely rude for a while now. Almost every time we’ve met, actually.”

She has to raise an eyebrow, or she’s afraid she will smile. “Oh? Maybe that is just your perception.”

The lines on his forehead are getting deeper, and she can sense the anger in his words. “Is that how you are going to talk yourself out of this?”

This time, she smiles at him, so exaggeratedly, she can feel the goose bumps on her own skin. “Not at all. Hi Ichigo. Hi again. Oh, and hi again! How do you do? I am so sorry for not treating you like the centre of my existence, which I am sure, a lot of people do. And you know what? I won’t anyway. Because I don’t give two cents about you.”

Momo is gaping, Ichigo’s eyes are wide, and Rukia is still smiling, her brain short-circuiting. She keeps smiling till Ichigo starts growling, his hands coming down with a loud thump on the table. “What the fuck did you just-”

“We are here for Momo,” she interrupts him calmly, managing to look him in the eye without gasping for air. “Let’s just get on with it, and pretend the other does not exist for the next few hours.” She pauses. Then, “what do you even care what I think?”

It feels like her chest is caving in, even as she steels her face and watches him in her best attempt at a poker face. Ichigo is staring back, the frown lessening, before mumbling something under his breath and looking at Momo.

Momo, who is now looking at Rukia with wide eyes, but Rukia just ignores her, putting on her earphones and drowning herself in Halsey’s _colours_.

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

They sit there for four hours. Momo and Ichigo are engrossed in studying, or at least Rukia assumes so – she hasn’t taken off her headphones, not once.

She hasn’t taken her eyes off him, either.

The book is strategically positioned in her hands, just high enough that she can catch Ichigo’s face over her book.  When her arms start hurting, she places the book on the table for a few minutes, shaking back the blood flow in her arms, before resuming her eye-stalking.

There are moments when she is able to put her instincts aside and study Ichigo objectively. He has a sharp face, beautiful eyes, thin lips, high cheekbones, which definitely makes him handsome. He has a defined body, lean muscles stretching the black purple sleeves of his shirt. He is extremely fit, bordering on lean.

He is scowling, and then he is not; then he is frowning a little, and then his face is blank. But the little crease between his eyebrows remains, and she thinks it makes him look hot in the whole bad boy way.

She notices other things too.

He drinks espresso, and drinks it scalding hot. He keeps his phone on silent, only checking once every half hour. His fingers are dead still on the book when Momo is solving a question, and he often looks out the window, eyes lost in the distance. When he is reading a passage from the book, his eyes dance a little, and his voice picks up and drops in sync with the characters’ (she knows this because occasionally, she switches off the music and just listens to him talk). His eyes light up, a little bit like the lights in Christmas, when he reads a Shakespearean passage. He keeps stretching his body in between, flexing his fingers and craning his neck.

But not once do his eyes look her way.

She is happy about the lack of attention, but a larger part of her is keening, trying to reach out for him with invisible hands. He is right there, a diagonal length on the table away; if she bends a little over the table, her hands can reach his, and she can weave her fingers through his long, warm ones. At least she thinks they are warm, maybe she could check for herself-

And then she knows this is no longer an objective observation, so she shuts her book and taps it against her forehead, _one tap two tap three tap-_

Someone coughs and Rukia looks sideways at a grinning Momo. “We are almost done, so you could leave, you know.” She is saying, and Rukia is exhaling in relief before she can stop it. She knows it sent the wrong message when Ichigo tenses up. But it would be silly to justify; she has to get away from him anyway, right?

So she packs up her books, getting up to embrace Momo in a side hug and nodding at Ichigo with what she hopes is a polite smile. He stares back at her defiantly, face fixed in a scowl, and she is about to make a snarky comment when-

“Rukia Kuchiki?”

Okay. The day officially got worse, she thinks.

Outwardly, she whirls and smiles tightly at Ishida. “Ishida.” She says, trying and failing to keep the disdain out of her voice.

He is staring at her, and then at someone behind her, and then back at her. A questioning eyebrow is raised her way. “You are here.”

“As are you.” She retorts.

He is tilting his head, studying her like a guinea pig. “This is… unexpected.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I am just leaving.”

“Would you like me to walk you home?”

That is unexpected. And creepy. But she hides it underneath a smile. “That’s quite alright.  I can make it back on my own.”

“It is quite dark right now,” he begins, and then pauses. His eyes dart towards Ichigo, and Rukia knows what he is going to do, so she immediately starts backing off. “I have a ride home! Some ways from here… I will be absolutely fine. See you tomorrow same time, Momo!”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

They fall into a routine over the next few weeks.

Rukia gets through university during the day, meets Momo every alternate weekday evening at the Le15, ignores Ichigo just enough that he doesn’t notice her eye-stalking, and avoids Ishida like plague when he starts showing up at the study sessions more often than she’d like. Apparently he is a close friend of Ichigo’s, though both of them say otherwise. They bicker often, Ishida snippy and Ichigo snippier, every argument of theirs ending in the shop waitress giving them a stern warning.

For some insane reason, Rukia likes watching their interactions. It feels familiar, like a lullaby from childhood, a word on her tongue but caught between her teeth. She is almost sure they shared this begrudging friendship in their previous life, but she can’t recall her position in all of this. Almost every time Ishida catches her staring, his mouth begins opening to start up a conversation, but then she simply points at her earphones, then her books, and gives a not really apologetic smile. He nods politely, but does nothing to hide the frustrated resignation in his eyes.

Sitting within five feet radius of the Kurosaki teen is still not good news for her emotional and physical states. There is still a sharp tingle along her spine when he scowls at her exaggerated smile; her heart still beats a mile on hearing his gruff voice; her cheeks always warm up on catching a glimpse of his stomach from where his t-shirts ride up on stretching. Sometimes she finds her hands reaching out for Ichigo, stopping them in their quest with gritted teeth. Her emotions are all over the place, a losing tug of war, happiness and longing and sadness and excitement balled up in the lump in her throat.

She thinks she is doing a good job of hiding it till Momo corners her in one of the coffee shop washrooms during one of their breaks, two weeks into their study sessions, and demands answers. Rukia makes excuses, waves her off, smiles for a good measure.

Momo refuses to budge.

So Rukia finally says, “He might be my soulmate.”

Momo is silent after that, for the rest of the day, for the remaining three days of the week. On Saturday morning (after another sleepless night) Momo shows up at her apartment, piano recital concert tickets in her hand, Renji in tow.

They spend the weekend listening to Chopin’s Scherzo No. 2 and Philip’s Metamorphosis.

It is the Monday in the first week of December when she shows up to the coffee shop, not too early and not too late, to find Ichigo sitting alone at their table.

She looks around, then some more, and realises Momo is not there.

 _Where are you?,_ she texts Momo.

 _House hunting with Shiro,_ the reply comes instantly. _Just reached home. Be there in a bit!_

Rukia curses under her breath. Should she just walk out? Ichigo probably hasn’t noticed her, and even if he has – who cares?

She ignores the traitorous response that rings in her mind.

Then she realises the ringing is coming from the phone in her hand.

_Keep Ichigo entertained, pls? Sorry don’t kill me pls :(_

Rukia decides to kill Momo on the next available opportunity. Piece by piece, part by part-

Ichigo is frowning at her. He is wearing a beige sweater over a white shirt, a dark muffler draped across the chair next to him. His profile is framed against the window, the snow laden street thrumming with humans and cars behind him. He looks like Adonis, broad shouldered and beautiful, and Rukia’s heart resumes the endless marathon it has been running since weeks.

She finds herself sliding in the seat opposite his, trying to work up a smile, a genuine one instead of the exaggeratedly fake ones, but it doesn’t come.

She has spent so much of her time ruthlessly tamping down the smiles from blooming on her face, that she has forgotten how to smile around him.

When he doesn’t respond to her nearly inaudible greeting, she digs the books and headphones out of her bag. “Momo will be a little late.”

In the ensuing silence that hits her harder than it should, she puts on her headphones, in the mood for some Landon Austin when her eyes fall on the book lying next to her hand.

“Wuthering Heights?”

“Huh?” Ichigo is looking at her, then at the book before returning a wary gaze to hers. “Yeah. What about it?”

She thinks of saying something. And then looks back at her hands. “Nothing.”

There is silence for a few moments, and she can’t help looking back at the book. It looks familiar, the cover bent on the front from where she once left it, and Rukia knows this book is not a part of their curriculum. It has to be…

“Is this book yours?” Ichigo’s gruff voice interrupts her, and Rukia startles slightly. For a change he is not in her field of vision.

“So it is not yours?” she counters, her suspicions confirmed.

He raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have asked you if it were.”

She doesn’t reply, picking up the book and opening it to its index. Her fingers trace the beautiful calligraphy indented on the top of the page, feeling the roughness of the pages at her fingertips. “Did Momo leave it behind?”

There is a significant pause before she hears him say, “It got mixed up with my books.”

She places back the book on the table, a little away from her this time. “Okay.”

And that’s the end of it, that is all the conversation they will ever have, she thinks, but he seems to have other ideas. “You read books?”

The indignation and surprise in his voice is so genuine that Rukia can’t _not_ take offense. She looks at him. “Obviously. I will have you know I have read all books in your curriculum.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow at her. “Really.”

Annoyance is gnawing at her body, even though her stomach is doing weird little Olympian flips. “For someone majoring in Literature, you sure judge a lot.”

He is working his jaw, face twitching. “You have not really left me any choice.”

She knows what he is talking about, but she has to ask. “Excuse me? What are you even-?”

“You know it as well as I do,” he is saying, his face settling into a sombre expression, “every time you see me, you take off like fire is hot on your heels.”

 _The problem is hot on your heels_ is on her lips, but something tells her he won’t get the reference. At the same time, she doesn’t know what to say to him, so she tries the time tested, play-it-dumb “what are you even talking about?”

His teeth are gritted, and he jerks back his head to the paperback Catcher in the Rye lying forgotten on the table. “Forget it.”

The mood is completely gone, if it ever existed to begin with, and Rukia tells herself this is what she wanted anyway.

So it really surprises her when her mouth opens to say “You remind me of someone I once knew.”

The words are out, damage done in the way Ichigo’s face jerks up, eyes a little wide and mouth slightly parted. She doesn’t know what to do, how to salvage, how to answer any questions he might ask now and make this worse-

But his face relaxes, comprehension settling in his features and he nods once. “Oh.”

Silence reigns once again, and Ichigo is still looking at her, and Rukia wants to get up and just _leave_ somehow. Her body tenses in preparation to get up and leave, when Ichigo’s next words stop her. “Alice in Wonderland does not count, by the way.”

It takes her a minute to comprehend the context. When she does, she is absolutely livid. “How dare you! Lewis Caroll is a god. It’s like insulting Shakespeare-”

“They are not even on the same level!”

“Yes, because they lived in different timelines! And unlike Shakespeare, at least Lewis existed!”

Ichigo’s jaw goes slack. “Did you just really go there? That’s a _conspiracy_ theory, for fuck’s sake -”

There is a tremor in her stomach, and she has the biggest urge to stand on the table and do a _whoop!_ “I am sure Christopher Marlowe would have to disagree.”

“Someone who reads Emily Bronte has no right to say this.”

That makes Rukia shut up. Ichigo seems to realise something is wrong for he stops mid rant, looking perplexed. The air gets awkward, worse than any other time, and Rukia realises the weird flips in her stomach have ceased, a whining sounding in her ears.

“I don’t like Wuthering Heights,” she clarifies quietly. “I kind of hate Catherine Shaw.”

His face is an impasse, only the tone giving away his mild curiosity. “Why?”

She should have anticipated him asking, really, so it’s her own fault. “She was so selfish. For a love that was not meant to be, because of her own obtuseness, she destroyed three lives.” She finishes, not completely lying.

Ichigo’s mouth is open, about to speak, when Momo bounds between them, all rainbows and sunshine. “I am sorry! I was out looking for apartments and it got late-”

Rukia looks at Ichigo, sees him blinking and frowning a little. Momo eventually trails off from her verbal tirade, looking between the two of them with suspicion.

Nothing changes in the study sessions. Momo and Ichigo still study, and Rukia still continues to cover her eye-stalking under the guise of indifference.

Only, towards the end, Rukia gets a nod from Ichigo as she packs her bag and leaves.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She doesn’t realise she is smiling till she sees her face in the bathroom mirror that night.

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

_“What’s a lollipop?”_

_Exasperation is beginning to show on Ichigo’s face, and Rukia vaguely wonders if she is a sadist for how much she relishes the look on his face._

_“Why do you want to know.” His face is still buried in the books, voice a deadpan._

_Rukia tries for a casual shrug, fingers caressing the strays of her bob. “Yuzu told me about some guy getting her one.”_

_The chair is suddenly on the floor, a loud ringing in the room. There is fire in Ichigo’s eyes, body a tightly sprung coil. “WHAT?”_

_Rukia thinks he is being dramatic. She tells him as much in curt words._

_He does not take it like a mature person, obviously. “Who is this guy? Why did he-”_

_“Is a lollipop that big a deal?” she cuts him off, beginning to wonder where she can find a lollipop._

_He is silent a few seconds, before scoffing. “It’s just candy on a stick.”_

_“Of any significance?”_

_The silence stretches a little longer this time. “No.” he admits quietly._

_She feels laughter bubbling from within her throat. “So why are you overreacting?”_

_He moodily turns away his head, arms crossed on his chest. She doesn’t feel bad, no, not at all, when her right foot extends from where she’s lounging in the bed to kick him in the shins, making him yelp._

_He is scowling, and she is laughing, and it is a great day to get some lollipop. She tells him as much, and he shakes his head before alighting his chair and flipping the pages of his homework. She thinks he is going to ignore her, and is already sketching the pros and cons of making a trip to Urahara’s store when suddenly Ichigo is in her face, snapping his fingers._

_She blinks just as he gruffly says, “Let’s go.”_

_He is already walking away, and Rukia is still frozen. She has a déjà vu, only that one ends with Ichigo growling and complaining as she drags him to the chocolate store._

_The laughter is back, spilling out her mouth. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, is it?”_

_Ichigo glares at her and spends the rest of their trip grumbling anyway, but it does nothing to dent the extra skip in Rukia’s step._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the beginning of a bucket-load of heartbreak, angst and running.  
> Seasoned with dry humour, of course.


	3. The One Where You Strategise

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

_A voice said, "Look me in the stars_

_And tell me truly, men of earth,_

_If all the soul and body scars_

_Were not too much to pay for birth."_

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

 

The first time Rukia had flashed, she had been an infant.

She would dream of blood and tears mixed in rain, of lightning and a white tower enshrouded in darkness, of a gigantic bird screeching and blazing in fire. Sometimes there would be cherry blossom petals, sometimes muddy swords, but there was always the smell of death.

She would wake up crying and Hisana would come rushing, pulling her out of the crib and into the safety of her arms, mouth emitting a steady stream of soothing words. Her early childhood was a series of nights spent reliving nightmares she couldn’t comprehend the familiarity of, but at some point they shifted. They took form, they started looking like people she knew, started feeling like sensations she had experienced.

She never flashed on Hisana.

She flashed on Byakuya when she was twelve, right after returning home from Hisana’s funeral.

He had been bloody, nearly armless in her dream. But he had been smiling, and caressing her hand, talking about Hisana, telling Rukia how much he had loved her, and how guilty he was for having left Rukia alone.

She had been inconsolable, Byakuya at a loss. Hisana was no longer around to tell her stories, to draw her into the safety of her arms, to magically turn her tears into laughter. She was not there when Rukia flashed on Kaien, nor when Kaien died in her arms, much like her dreams.

Flashing on memories was unheard of. No known phenomenon in their universe had an explanation, except for the occasional anomalies who turned up claiming to recall their past life. So Rukia kept this strangeness to herself, for all of her twenty two years of existence, confiding only in Byakuya, Hisana, Kaien and Renji.

But now, when she thinks of having a soulmate, a person she is doomed to love one-sidedly, she realises she had it coming all this while.

People with soulmates don’t flash on anyone except for their soulmate, but it would figure that Rukia was the exception to the rule.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Rukia ditches the next study session.

Momo obviously does not buy into her excuse of having prior commitments, and she says as much. She seems confused, because things had finally seemed to be looking up the last time they were at the study session, and that is precisely the problem.

Rukia knows the rule was broken.

She knows she crossed a line, the invisible barrier she had set between them. She had created the line, the line that she had stepped out of, and now it was her turn to set back the barriers stronger, harder, and tougher. There was no way she was seeing Ichigo again, definitely not till he forgot she ever existed, and something told her it would not take a long time. She was not even a blip on his radar.

She tells Renji as much over dinner in his apartment that Wednesday, even as her stomach swallows in on itself, and he looks nothing short of sceptical. But his eyes, they are still her childhood blanket, her safe place, and she knows there is no culpability there. He asks about her brother, and she tells him about his plans to stay over at Rukia’s that weekend.

The week goes by in a flurry of classes and assignments and avoiding the south corner of the campus - where the Literature department sits – and the weekend is upon her even before she realises it.

Byakuya had refused, but obviously Rukia is going to pick him up from the airport. So she gets ready by five in the morning, putting on her warmest clothes, picks up a frappe mocha from the Starbucks en route, and makes it to the airport a whole ten minutes earlier. It’s six in the morning, yet the airport is filled with people busily making their way about aisles and trolleys. Some are yawning, some intently staring down everything in their path. A toddler is wailing in his mother’s arms, her frantic attempts at shushing him yielding only louder wails. Everyone is dressed in warm clothes, colourful mufflers and scarves and sweaters abound.

It is another 15 minutes of mindlessly gazing at the people around her before Rukia notices Byakuya making his way through the glass doors, suitcase at his heels. Before she can walk forward to meet him, another man is barrelling through the door, yelling hot on her brother’s heels. His expression, which had been a mask of indifference, crumbles into something of a grimace as he tries to keep walking, unmindful of the other man’s loud presence.

She studies the man trying to keep up with her brother. He has black hair greying at their roots, an unkempt goatee, a perpetually smiling face and dimples. His mouth is open, engaging her brother in possibly a one-sided conversation from what she can make of Byakuya’s expression. Byakuya catches sight of her – she knows this because of the brief nod in her direction – and he is increasing his speed, the man beside him easily doing the same.

As they get closer, she starts catching snippets of their conversation. “- and then, my son, my cruel, cruel son, simply thundered up the stairs! Not one glance, not one apology! What have I done -”

He looks at her when Byakuya hails to a stop, and his eyes light up even more. “Well well well! Such a beautiful daughter you have, Byakuya!”

She can’t decide whether to be scandalised or die laughing right there. Byakuya makes the decision for her, looking suitably unaffected even as his voice colours with immense contempt. “She is my sister.”

The other man, to his credit, laughs loudly and pats her brother on the back with a loud smack. “Seriously? I would have never guessed! Not when she looks like your carbon copy!”

_You should see my sister,_ the words are there, right there, on her tongue, but somehow she abstains herself. “Hello. I am Rukia,” she says instead, extending her hand. “I take it you are an acquaintance of my brother’s?”

The man readily engulfs her hand with his much larger one, shaking it with a ferocity that has her teeth rattling. “Acquaintance is a light word! We interned in the same firm. In fact,” and here his smile dims slightly, “my brother used to tutor you.”

The question is past her lips, even as she makes the connection, even as her heart plummets to the dark abyss somewhere lower, her body a lot colder. There is no air for a moment, someone has punched her in the gut, and she waits for the moment to pass, knowing from experience it will, before resettling her smile and nodding once.

“Isshin is my name,” the man continues, his speech the unstoppable tsunami of all the wrong things to say. “And I have had a word with Byakuya; you both are coming over to my place for dinner!”

Rukia is too numbed to say anything, and her brother makes no effort to retort, so she figures it is alright.

The ride to the man’s house has a dream like quality to it. She does not recognise the neighbourhood, it is somewhere more suburban, and she lives uptown. Isshin is gleefully talking about everything under the sun, only too happy to talk to a non-responsive audience. A few times Rukia tries talking, saying a polite word, murmuring an assent or smiling a little, but every time she looks at his face, Kaien’s face surfaces, his smile is Isshin’s smile, his eyelashes blinking with Isshin’s and then suddenly her voice is rolling into a lump in her throat.

They make it to his house in under an hour, leaving the luggage in the car and the door has barely opened before Isshin is rushing in with a dramatic wail of “Daddy’s back!” Rukia exchanges a glance with her brother, trying to give him a reassuring smile she knows he doesn’t need.

“Dad stay out of here!”

The wail startles Rukia into coming to a stop, just as she is stepping over the threshold. She looks back questioningly at her brother, who spares her a glance before brushing past her into the house with the gait of one who has done it many a times before.

She suspects he has.

The house is painted in beige walls and paintings. Brown sofa lines surround the television in the living room, a matching dining table with four chairs placed next to it. The ceiling is covered in chandeliers and small light bulbs. It has the feel of a family living in there.

It feels like a home.

She is introduced to two young women, one a feminine looking brunette, the other a rather peeved looking raven. Both are fraternal twins, she is told, their personalities and looks a sharp contrast to each other. It is then that she notices the life sized poster of a smiling woman on the wall. They tell her it’s their mom, and even as she stares at the woman, she feels an uncanny sensation of having been here before, of having seen the woman before. Her feet have carried her to the portrait, and her fingers are tracing the rough texture of dried paint, mind trying to place the unfamiliar sadness welling within.

“She is beautiful,” Rukia breathes out, the feeling of nostalgia swarming her senses.

“That, she is.” A male voice comes from right next to her, and she is jumping a few feet away, fearful eyes taking in the visage of the man she has been avoiding since the past week.

She should have anticipated it, really. This was Universe’s way of telling her that it was not leaving her alone till she got her heart broken and stomped and shattered into a million pieces a million ways a million times over. She belatedly notices that Ichigo is not looking at her, but at the portrait, his eyes such a dark shade of misery she has to resist rushing there and taking him in her arms and protecting him from the portrait.

“This is my mother,” he clarifies, his eyes ditching the painting in favour of pinning her with eyes, eyes a stormy shade of sadness, and Rukia has to dig her nails into her elbows before she does something stupid.

She tries nodding briefly, brain wracking to come up with something. “This is my brother,” she says, trying to shut her mouth. “He knows your father, so we, um, happened to come here.”

There is a silence so awkward she wishes the floor would swallow her, and when she looks up at her brother, she notices Isshin’s eyes appraising her shrewdly, all traces of the idiocy gone. That is, till the maniac gleam returns.

“So are you Ichigo’s-”

He has been injured severely in the family jewels by the time they sit down to have dinner, which is a whole new level of awkward. Her brother is silent, Ichigo keeps grunting, the twins are occasionally passing rude remarks while their father can’t seem to stop talking. There is an empty seat at the head of the table, but no one comments on it, or at the empty plate and glass placed before it. Her eyes keep finding it, and inevitably she thinks of the empty room back in her brother’s mansion in Seattle, the lavender walls and unchanging bedsheets gathering dust. It is too much, thinking of two people she has lost in a span of few hours, so she tries distracting herself by looking about.

There is constant commotion at the table, Isshin asking all grades of inappropriate question to her brother who is artfully focused on the food. The light-haired twin is looking upset, the raven-haired annoyed, and Ichigo can’t stop kicking his father in the foot. But she knows.

She knows this is a family.

It is too much emotions in one day, so much so that even Ichigo’s presence is not overwhelming her senses for a change. So she excuses herself from the table, quietly slinking out through the backdoor of the house, onto the dark street. There is a flickering street light, and she stares it down in a losing match. The street is absolutely empty, save for the snow which is piled everywhere like a pristine white blanket. The sky is clear tonight, stars littering the dark.

Rukia closes her eyes, breathes in deep through her tiny nose, exhaling just as noisily. Her heart is lead, and it is growing bigger and bigger from where it rests in her chest. She is drowning in air, right there, in the middle of the street, in an unknown universe.

“Do you have asthma?”

His footsteps are loud, like blaring speakers in the quiet of the night, and she has to hold back a smile. There it is, the unpredictable, the unanticipated, the one who makes her drown and reach for the surface all the same. It is funny how she feels a lifetime of emotions for someone she doesn’t know at all as a person. Her heart is still lead, but it is beginning to melt.

“I just like breathing from the stomach,” she says. “It is the secret to a long life.”

He snorts from where he has come to stand next to her. The heaviness in her heart seems to ground her, for she finds it in herself to tease him. “Missed me so much?”

His head whips around to stare at her indignantly. “Obviously not. Who do you think-”

“Relax. It was a joke.” She interrupts, still staring up at the sky. There is silence then, a silence that stretches into seconds, then minutes and then Rukia knows no more. Her thoughts are beginning to settle down from aggressive black splotches to a persistent buzz. Ichigo is standing next to her, stock still, breathing calm breaths. She thinks they could stay this way for a long time maybe, if no one interrupted, if nothing disturbed this silence.

And quite unwillingly, but not surprisingly, her eyes find Ichigo’s profile silhouetted against a surreal sky and a grounded civilisation. He looks beautiful, and she thinks how she could spend her whole life staring his way, staring at eyes that will never meet hers halfway.

And in that moment, something in her snaps. She knows nothing about this man. She doesn’t know his birthday, if his laughter sounds like a bray, whether he is Team Jolie or Team Aniston, whether he eats ketchup on everything, when he calls it a day, what makes him tick. All her feelings, this coagulation of immense attraction and teenage die-for-you humdrum is so shallow, driven by the unknown memories of a past that is no more. It is driving her crazy, these feelings, this attraction, this gravitation towards him.

She has tried her hardest to stay away, turn away, and run away from this man. But this anomaly of cosmic origins has been a complete bitch, throwing him at every turn she takes to avoid him. After all these weeks of running away, if there is one thing she has realised, it’s that running away is not the solution. Maybe it is a karmic thing, maybe the unknown is indeed putting him in her path so she does not get out of this life of redemption.

And an insane idea occurs to her. If she can’t run away, why not _stay_? Why doesn’t she try to get to know him better? Find more about the mystery that sings familiar in her being? The grass being greener shebang has some credit to it, and she is willing to take up the chance. It may be similar to the Westermarck effect, and maybe being close enough is all she needs to develop immunity to this insanity that has become her emotions. It is crazy, insane, but lately that is all her life has been about anyway, so why not?

So she smiles at him, a smile that blooms from the flight her heart takes off on, and says the words she has been dying to say since five weeks, three days, eighteen hours and forty minutes now.

“Do you work out?”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

When Byakuya and her get home later that night, she takes out a notebook, stares at it, and starts writing the title.

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

_The hollow is towering menacingly, its shrill screech reverberating in the closed compound, but Ichigo has eyes only for her, his body turned her way, unmindful of the hollow behind him._

_Rukia stabs a thumb in her chest, the burn from behind her eyes cascading into blurriness. “That is the kind of man you are in my heart, Ichigo!”_

_Ichigo is still staring at her, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, and she wonders what he is so surprised about, but then he is smiling, his face is the morning sun, and he has turned away before she can look beyond all the brightness. He is smiling, she can tell from his voice as it lies about wanting her to shut up._

_Later that day, Rukia is lounging in the kitchen, wondering where the cucumbers are, when she feels a heat behind her. She turns around, her confusion directed at a staring Ichigo. His gaze is unwavering, and she can’t stop the smile from appearing on her face. “What are you looking at, creeper?”_

_The retaliation she expects never comes. Ichigo is staring at her, even now, his face set in stone, and so Rukia stares back, arms crossed, an eyebrow tweaked._

_“Man in your heart?” he asks, voice quiet._

_And then something changes in the way Ichigo is looking at her. His eyes are boring into hers, reading deeper than she is used to. The words are on her tongue, but her tongue is sand, dissolving into her throat and she doesn’t understand what this emotion is. He is looking at her soul, at her heart, at her existence; the air is charged and everything has faded away into nothingness. Gravity is crushing her in that moment, something is coming fast at her, her heat is ripping a tornado within, and very briefly she sees Kaien’s smile, Byakuya’s gaze at Hisana’s picture, Renji’s back, and –_

_and she hates this._

_So she picks the nearest spoon and chucks it at his head, creating a commotion loud enough for the rest of the house to intervene in._

_Ichigo doesn’t look her way again, for the rest of evening._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

Rukia starts spending her days barging into Ichigo’s life.

It starts with stalking. Complete with the nerdy glasses, muffled face and oversized clothes, she casually stalks the south campus at lunch time, eyes peeled on every passing face for the familiar orange head. She does this the first two days, till she realises her outfit gets her the very attention she is trying to escape. Eventually she compromises on the muffler, choosing to blend with the greenery every day instead.

She finds Ichigo to be a man of great precision. The man exits his building exactly at a quarter past one, and casually strolls to the canteen. Where, to her great disappointment, he seats himself with Ishida Uryu. They have no one else at their table, though Ichigo seems to have a lot of random students pass him casual greetings.

After lunch he attends classes on two days of the week, the remaining three he opts to go home.

She, of course, stalks him all the way home.

That’s how she discovers that he hums Green Day and Nirvana while walking, eyes trained on the footpath, with little interest in his immediate surroundings. Curiously enough, he never uses the headphones uselessly slung on the handle of his sling bag. She thinks how she has never seen him listening to music, whether in the study sessions or while casually strolling, and it strikes her as something to be stored away for now and pondered upon later.

Stalking is going well enough, and Rukia starts feeling content with the routine, with this degree of one-sided interaction with the object of her pithy desires. Which is why, when she is standing outside Ichigo’s house, silently settled between the bushes, the finger that taps on her shoulder surprises the living daylights out of her. She turns about, hand blindly flinging a punch on a scrubby face, which she finds to be belonging to a very amused looking Isshin.

“Want to come in for some tea?”

She refuses, very insistent and appropriately embarrassed, but then Isshin is hollering loudly and the next thing she knows, she is in the house, amidst an overexcited man and two puzzled teenagers. The raven-haired one is giving her suspicious looks, arms crossed defensively across her chest. “What are you doing here?”

Rukia has a sob story ready, one she knows this smart head won’t buy but the majority in the room will, but before she can get out the fake tears Isshin is pushing her away, towards the dining room, waving off his daughters. “I invited her over for some quality time with her father figure!”

Rukia doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend this man’s sudden affection for her. She sits puzzling over it and Ichigo’s absence – had he shut himself somewhere in the house? - through tea, polite pleasantries gliding over the confusion within her with the smoothness of polish, and it is only when the siblings have retired to their rooms that she starts seeing the reason for her invitation into the house.

“Do you visit Kaien?”

The tea cup in her hand is shaking, and she is about to drop it, but Isshin gently pries her fingers from the cup, silently placing it back in the tray. His eyes find hers again, the smile no longer on his face though a shadow of it remains in his eyes.

Her words have abandoned her, her heart is tearing out of her chest, and she has to get out of here, out of this forsaken place, this man is going to kill her-

“When was the last time you went to see him?” his voice is gentle, deceptively so; the words feel like a knife stabbing in her chest, twisting itself. _One two three one two three one two three-_

“Breathe.” Rukia blinks, vision clearing to show Isshin’s palm on hers, face stern. She realises she is not in the sanctuary of her thoughts, in the caged prison of her solitude, and hence she must control.

So she withdraws her hand from his, smiles a little and says she is fine. Again. Again. Till Kaien is a box locked away in the deepest recesses of her mind and her words are once more slickly gliding miles above the surface of the box. “I am alright,” she reiterates. “No, I haven’t visited him. Not once since that day.”

Isshin is studying her now, his face unreadable, and she has the vaguest feeling it mirrors hers. “You know you can, right?”

She can’t say anything to that, anything that wouldn’t lead to unsolicited emotions running amok and so she just smiles slightly, shrugging her shoulders a little. They sit there for a few seconds, hearing the creak of a door shutting up somewhere upstairs, till she has to say, “I should leave.”

Isshin nods, but then his hand is on her head, ruffling it heavily. “You are always welcome here, kiddo.”

The smile is on her face, but in her heart, she knows she won’t be returning here.

x-x-x-x-x-x-

_“Is he still unconscious?”_

_She turns around to see Isshin staring at Ichigo, arms crossed across his chest. His face is unshaven, hair messed up, and he looks like he came out of a war._

_He looks the part._

_She nods at him. “Yes. Urahara said we can expect another day, at the very least.”_

_Isshin says nothing, and they stand there in silence, looking at Ichigo. Rukia can’t look at Ichigo anymore, not when she has spent nearly every minute of the past two days staring at his face and the knowledge of the loss that awaits him on awakening. So she walks to the closet, opening it and removing her limited belongings._

_There is no point delaying it anymore anyway._

_“You are leaving.”_

_It’s not a question, but Rukia turns around and answers anyway. “Yes. He won’t be able to see me anymore anyway.” She isn’t sure why she is stating the obvious, even though there is no accusation in Isshin’s words._

_Isshin’s face is sombre, but the lines around his mouth relax a little. “Thank you for everything you have done for my son.”_

_The protest is on her lips, but then Isshin is shaking his side, continuing on. “I mean for being in his life. By his side, through everything.”_

_There is a lump in her throat, and her words are wet as they stumble past it. “No more than I am towards him. He,” her eyes involuntarily find Ichigo, blissfully oblivious. She has no words, because right now she is the sum total of her emotions. But she has to say something, and so she pushes her emotions right where they belong, in that little black box in the far recesses of her mind, and says, “He has changed everything for me.”_

_“And yet you are leaving?”_

_She looks at Isshin, and there is no accusation, but he is staring at her, eyes so sad, and she remembers the poster downstairs, the woman with the blinding smile and kind eyes._

_“I need to.” She says, her tone final. “But I will be here to bid him farewell tomorrow.”_

_Isshin’s shoulders slump a little, and she nods, making it to the window and leaping out._

_She is never returning here. Not after tomorrow, she thinks._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-_

Rukia decides to change her strategy.

Following Ichigo home is completely out of the question, so now she decides to corner him into conversations during the study session.

Which still doesn’t come easy. Ichigo seems to have leftover resentment of sorts from the time she tried erasing his existence from her sight. For instance, she once asks him about his family.

“You saw it,” he responds disinterestedly. “Three people. Why ask redundant questions?”

Another time she asks him about his birthday. That gets her a suspicious eyebrow.

“July fifteenth. But why do you want to know?”

Or the one time she asks him about his favourite band, and he gives a very rude, “Bad Religion. Though I doubt you know anything about music.”

He gets a coffee cup in his face for that one.

But now she greets him, smiles when he catches her eyes, and looks his way every time she feels like it.

It is therapeutic.

It feels like the floodgates of a dam have been opened. The heaviness, the surreptitiousness, the lying – all of it has stopped, and now she can easily follow the instincts her body has been fighting all along. She can smile at Ichigo, laugh at him, ask him questions, and just listen to him talk without having to pretend otherwise. She feels lighter than she has in months, and it feels like everything is finally going right.

One such Wednesday evening, they all are seated in the coffee shop, carrying on with their usual routine. Rukia is chewing the pen tip in her mouth, determined to make conversation today.

“Which is your favourite book?”

Ichigo looks up, his beautiful eyes hazy and Rukia has to bite down a smile. He blinks once, twice, a slight wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “Romeo and Juliet.”

She can’t help it. Laughter escapes before she can cover her mouth, and the damage is done in the way the wrinkle deepens. Momo is also smiling, head slightly bent. “Are you going to be sexist about this?”

“Oh please. I am a feminazi.”

Momo nods. “I can vouch for that.”

“Then why the hell are you laugh-”

“You said it with such disdain.”

He glares at her. “This is my natural expression.”

She furrows her brows, eyes hostile, voice an attempt at a deep baritone. “I love Romeo and Juliet. Such romance. Much tragedy.”

“You didn’t even _use_ that right.”

Only after Ichigo storms off at the end of the study session does Rukia think that maybe she went the wrong way about it.

But when he shows up the day after, all frowns and grouch per usual, she snorts the coffee through her nose.


	4. And At The Heart Of It All, Lies?

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

_Here is the deepest secret nobody knows,_

_here is the root of the root,_

_and the bud of the bud,_

_and the sky of the sky_

_of a tree called life;_

_which grows,_

_higher than the soul can hope,_

_or the mind can hide,_

_and this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart,_

_I carry your heart,_

_I carry it in my heart._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

Soulmates, in her world, are not a cosmic blessing.

There was a time when people believed in the romanticized unknown, sought solace in the belief of a person who completes them existing somewhere, someplace, walking the same land as them. This belief carried on for years till ancient scriptures dating around Plato’s time were discovered. Initial discovery was scorned, laughed at and mocked at. Some people took it as an attempt to create a new philosophy school, but the laughter turned to shock when various explorations and scientific experimentation yielded what the world had always deeply feared – a power at work beyond any human’s control.

And that is how slowly soulmates shifted from a dream to a nightmare.

In Rukia’s world, soulmates are a divine punishment, a price to be paid for an act done in an unknown life. It is a half bond, feelings of someone being _right_ and the _completing piece_ limited to one, the person getting punished.

Chances of reciprocal are nil, because the soulmate experiences no such reciprocal pull, no such mountain-moving-ocean-crossing-fire-walking love. There are some who get lucky, who get loved in turn, but the love is often fleeting, so very human, so very shallow.

Not everyone has a soulmate, the turnout being thirty percent of the population, on an average at given point of time.

Various institutions have been set up, all looking into the cosmic phenomenon, trying to place its origin. Many adamantly prophesize that it is a matter of psychology, all in one’s head, some others believing it is a science, an unexplained facet of the world. No one knows the mysteries of the Universe, why there is such a cruel and blatantly unfair system in place, but it is what life hands them and what they live with.

It is just another thing Rukia has to live with.

Only if nothing goes as per plan, of course.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Conversations with Ichigo remain stunted buds, her words the barrier to them dying a miserably silent death. Rukia doesn’t mind, no, because this way she gets to know him at a safe distance. A distance created by his indifference and her fears, but she knows he has to do more for her to get to know more. She tries looking for evidence of him picking his nose, unwashed hands after using the washroom, suspicious sounds from where he is seated, and guilt confessions of a body hidden in a yard somewhere. No such evidence turns up, but Rukia is nothing if not a persistent woman, and she keeps looking for the Freudian slip, for the defining moment, for the instant all of this shallow attraction will fall apart.

“Rukia,” Renji is saying, his fingers snapping in front of her eyes. Rukia blinks, eyes following the retreating movement of his hand all the way to his face, which is drawn in a smug expression. “Don’t want your present?”

They are seated in a French restaurant on Rukia’s birthday weekend, dining on wine and _Hor de oeuvres_. It is _Le Enchante_ , Rukia’s favourite restaurant and this is a ritual they have done every year for the past four years.

She snorts. “Let’s be real. What are you going to do with the Chappy mug anyway?”

Renji’s smile drops, eyebrows drawn now. He slams down a glittery red wrapped box on the table. “Why do I even bother? Happy birthday.”

She smiles exaggeratedly, hands sliding the gift near her bosom. “Why, thank you, Renji.”

“What did Byakuya give you? Another flat? A car?” Renji’s eyes are shining, an eyebrow raised.

“Neither. He is coming over later tonight,” she responds excitedly. “Last time he had to cut short his visit, remember?”

After the overly, emotionally exerting dinner at Isshin’s house, Byakuya and Rukia had silently gone back home, neither in the mood to  hold up a formal conversation, and the very next morning Byakuya had to leave again due to an emergency lock-out at a branch of the Kuchiki enterprises. She hadn’t been very upset to see him leaving – after the week that had been, she was relieved to have to put up pretences before one less person.

Renji is still looking at her, a faint smile on his face. “That is the best birthday present you could get,” he says softly.

Rukia picks up the wine glass, cocking it in his direction. “You bet.”

Byakuya shows up later that night at her apartment, all stoic and intimidating per se, his face set. He had been in the city since afternoon, attending a few meetings and hence she had been resigned to waiting for him at home.

She waits for him to line up his suitcase in the guest room – he hates it when anyone touches his things – and then he is walking back towards her, arms extending to give her a quick hug. This is the only time of the year she gets a hug from him, and very honestly, Rukia is not a very physically expressive person herself, but as he embraces her, she thinks this is the warmest she will feel this year. He quickly steps back, pats her once for good measure, before taking a seat on the bed.

She takes the sofa seat placed opposite, and they talk, soft, halted, silent but comfortable, as she tells him about her recent tests and upcoming placements. He listens, nods, and in a surprising turn of events, asks her a question.

“Have you met Isshin since then?”

Her words halt, the memory of the last time she met Isshin coming back to her and she doesn’t know what to say. She wants to lie, refuse, never talk about it, but her brother is the one man she cannot lie to, and so she finds herself saying, “Yes. I did.”

He doesn’t ask any further, but his eyes are trained on her and they sit in absolute silence. A minute passes, then another, then another, till Byakuya says, “That man is obnoxiously inappropriate.”  

There is another moment of silence, before Rukia is bringing a hand up to her lips, trying her hardest to hide the grin.

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

x-x-x-xx-x-x-x-x-

_Byakuya is smiling, and it takes the breath out of her lungs in an embarrassing ‘whoosh’. She can count on her fingers, the number of times she has seen him smile, and on just one hand the number of times the smile has been directed her way._

_His hand finds her head, warm fingers patting it. “May you find happiness with him,” he is saying, and she closes her burning eyes, basking in the warmth seeping from the tip of her head all the way to her toes._

_His hand withdraws, and she steps back, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes, before looking him in the eye. “Thank you, brother.” And then she is turning around, searching for her sandals. “I will take my leave now. Need to go to the world of the living to inform Orihime.”_

_There is silence for a few moments, and she takes it to be her brother’s dismissal. Which is why, when she is sliding the door open and his voice breaks the silence, she is decidedly startled. “Won’t Kurosaki already have told her?”_

_Rukia looks back at him. “He doesn’t know about it as yet. Orihime will be telling him.”_

_Byakuya is staring at her, and his features have not shifted, but she can tell he is confused. “Kurosaki does not know?”_

_“No?”_

_He is silent. She realises he wants an answer, but she can’t find the question._ _He seems to realise it, for he is saying, “I thought Kurosaki would be the first one to know.”_

_She blinks at him. “I haven’t had the chance to see him of recent, so the opportunity never came up.”_

_It is funny how Renji had asked her the same question. Is it really that big a deal?_

_“So you are going to the human world to inform Orihime?” Byakuya’s voice is the same as his face, unchanging, but Rukia suddenly feels like she is in the Central 46 chamber, all eyes on her, silently appraising._

_“Yes?” she responds hesitantly._

_Her brother’s eyes shift and the feeling of eyes on her vanishes with it. Instead now she is reminded of the time in the human world, in the Japanese class where the teacher would be speaking in perfectly modern Japanese leaving Rukia scrambling her brains trying to figure out sentence after sentence, the words running away from her._

_“I see.” Is all he says, and she hears every word, but it still feels like something has run away from her._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

“Your hair is stupid.”

Rukia pauses mid stride, taking a few steps back to make sure her eyes are not deceiving her. There is Ichigo, looking bored for all the world, sitting at the stairs to the entrance of the Literature building. A freckle-faced blonde is standing next to him, kicking at the stones at his feet. The surrounding ground is absolutely empty, save for a student or two hurrying across the lawn onto the next building. She moves closer, wondering why Ichigo is out on a lecture day – yes, she knows his schedule by heart like the creepy stalker she is and feels not even an inkling of guilt – when the blonde’s jagged voice reaches her ears.

“That crazy hair is genetic?”

Ichigo is still seated, calmly flipping through his book, his face schooled into an expressionless mask. But that is not enough to stop the blonde, his anger only aggravating further.

“All women are stupid. What does Inoue see in your stupid face? And that shitty hair? That ain’t natural, man. Or do your parents have crazy hair too? Your momma -”

He never gets to complete the sentence because Rukia is right in his face, her hands yanking him down by his hair to where his eyes are on level with hers. “You want to know what he got that you don’t?” she makes her voice soft, squints her eyes in a seductive glance. His eyes are wide, mouth open and he looks funny, a simultaneous mix of angry and intrigued.

“What?”

She leans close to his ears, and her voice is velvet. “Balls.”

The next moment he is kneeling on the ground, and Rukia is withdrawing her knee, dusting her hands. They feel slimy, and she thinks she could have done without having to touch him so much, but the disadvantage that is her height would not have allowed without the added leverage. The satisfaction she feels more than makes up for it though, and she watches with a smile as he attempts getting up, his face an ugly expression. “You bitch-”

“This is a university campus, for crying out loud. What is this middle school attitude of trash talking? Grow up buddy. And if you don’t-” she bends to his level, smiling. “I will be more than glad to put you in a grown-ups’ hands.”

She gets up just as he scrambles, his face spiteful as he limps away gracelessly. Her chest caves in as she remembers what he had been about to say, and she turns to face Ichigo –

\- Who is seated at the stairs, staring at her, face an expressionless mask. She is equal parts relieved and annoyed, but mostly relieved, because it looks like Ichigo didn’t catch the asshole’s sentence. Or maybe he did, but Rukia astounded him into silence?

Maybe he didn’t need the help, her brain tells her. Maybe she stunned him into seeing her over-eager and intrusive nature.

She waits for a moment, thinking maybe he has something to say, but when he says nothing, she rolls her eyes, says “You are not the only weirdo with a weird hair colour I know of.” and walks off.

She silences her heart when it tells her to stay.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Later that day, she writes in her notebook - titled _Things I Hate About Ichigo_ –

  1. _Too proud. Can’t even say a word of thanks. Thinks he can handle everything on his own._
  2. _No social skills, whatsoever. Does he think that stupidly attractively scowl-y face of his can hold a conversation? He is no Derek Hale to be doing that!_



There is a missed call from Renji, but she ignores it. He is going to show up at her apartment sometime in the next few days anyway.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Ishida Uryuu approaches her the next day when she is at her table, twirling the carrots in her plate.

“No,” she says, without looking up. The moment has a distinct sense of déjà vu, and she starts mapping her exit route from the cafeteria.

“You wound me,” he replies tonelessly, nevertheless seating himself before her. Before she can tell him to get off, Ichigo is right there, sliding down next to Ishida, and Rukia’s words have abandoned her, silently fleeing her gaping mouth. Ishida sees it too, the asshole, for he is coughing in his hand, face beaming at her.

“You look stupid staring like that.” Ichigo greets her, biting into his burrito.

She shakes her head, her stomach somersaulting tiny cheerleader flips at the distinct absence of heat in his words, and she has to say something, anything, without sounding stupid.

“Your face is stupid.”

She is deciding which window to jump from when Ichigo scowls, his mouth set in a grim line. “You are such a-”

“Hello, Orihime.” Ishida interrupts, his voice polite, but a less fake brand of polite, so Rukia looks up from where Ichigo’s eyebrows are doing a caterpillar crawl into the face of a breathtakingly beautiful ginger-head.

Her eyes are chocolate brown, big and doe-eyed on her small face. She is smiling at Ishida, and then at Ichigo, very briefly, before her eyes are back on Ishida.

“Hey,” her voice is tinkling water, and Rukia thinks she might have read one too many poems. “Can I join you? Tatsuki has called in sick today.”

“Sure,” Ishida says, sliding in and effectively sandwiching himself between Orihime and Ichigo. Rukia gives a small smile when Orihime glances her way, extending a hand. “Hey! Never seen you around. I am Orihime.”

Rukia takes her hand. “I am Rukia.”

“Oh, which major?”

“Psychology.” Ishida answers, which pisses off Rukia so she kicks his foot from underneath the table.

She knows it was the wrong foot when Ichigo yelps, angrily looking down before fixing a glare her way.

“Oh! I am in Literature with Ichigo,” she says, shooting a confused look at the said man’s outburst before eyeing Rukia again. “Figures I wouldn’t see you around then.”

“Yeah.” Rukia says, and that’s the end of their conversation. She goes back to eating her green peas, tuning out Orihime’s high pitched queries directed at Ishida and Ichigo. She wonders if it would be rude to get up and walk off, but she is almost done with her lunch, and there is nothing more to be done here with the stranger trio. She starts packing up her things when something hits her calf.

From under the table.

She sees the smirk on Ichigo’s face, and knows it is war.

She slides lower on the bench, extending her foot further and smacking it on Ichigo’s shin. He lets out a grunt, which attracts the attention of the pair sitting next to him. He ignores them, kicking her back but she deftly pulls back her feet, fixing him with a cheeky look. She kicks him again, on his left calf this time, and then it is a game of cat and mouse, Ichigo chasing her feet and her delivering swift swipes, till his legs settle on both sides on hers, locking them in place and encasing them even as she struggles to move. Her skin is tingling where it is touching his, all nerve endings on her calves singing with over stimulation. This is the most they have touched in forever, and it’s crazy because wasn’t Ichigo supposed to be averse to physicality?

Ichigo is grinning now, his face a victor’s pride, and she derives immense pleasure in the way he shoots up when she slips out her right foot from her ballet shoes and starts sliding it along his left calf. He lets out a girly shriek, his legs immediately leaving hers and jerking back, nearly making him fall backwards. Orihime is out of her seat, concerned hands hovering over him, Ishida is sitting with judgement written all over his face and Rukia is laughing, a full blown laughter, even as she slides and gets off the bench.

Ichigo is still shouting curses when she walks out the cafeteria.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

That night, she tells Renji her plan is working. She tells him about Ichigo’s immature tactics and girls-have-cooties attitude. She throws in a “He is not a gentleman. What kind of a guy behaves that way with a female?” for a good measure.

Renji tells her with a horrified expression that she is smiling like the Joker.

She throws a tea bag at his face.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In the study session the next day, on returning from nature’s call, Rukia finds a _CHAPPY SUCKS_ scribbled across her notebook. Momo is silent, Ichigo all smirk.

Ichigo leaves the cafe with a scowl and a moustache sketched on his face that evening.

He never sees her flushed face, nor does he hear the skip in her heartbeat when her pale fingers trace his scribbles.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Her notebook starts filling up. She feels serenity as she writes _19\. Persistent. Does not know when to back off. He will keep scratching and prodding and poking and pushing till he gets the final word in. Or dies trying to, at least._

There is a premonition, lingering at the edges of her consciousness, but she ignores it.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

It is Valentines, and Momo is rambling about her dinner plans with Toshiro.

“We are going to Aer,” she is saying, her voice giving away into a sigh. “Then we will be spending the night at Carlton Prise, with champagne and flowers and soft, jazzy music. I can’t wait for it. And Shiro being so romantic! It was so difficult when we first-”

Rukia looks at her, and then at the clock. “It is seven. Can I leave?”

Momo’s eyes are immediately on hers, brows drawn. “Do you have a date?”

Instinctually Rukia’s eyes find Ichigo, who is poring over _Lovely Bones_ , one hand folded on the table and the other supporting his jaw. His eyes are glazed, mouth a thin line, and she kind of wants to kiss away the frown line into the upward tilt of a smile. He looks up, eyes catching hers briefly and she immediately looks away.

“None of your business.” She says, breezily enough she hopes, just enough that they will lose interest. Momo looks like she wants to say something more, so Rukia turns to Ichigo and asks, “Got a date?”

Ichigo blinks at her, pursuing his lips. “None of your business.” He echoes, and Rukia would roll her eyes, but then his phone is ringing, the phone that has in the past two hours somehow landed by her elbow, and it is flashing _Inoue Orihime_ and Rukia suddenly has a recollection of brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes.

Ichigo is taking the phone in his hand, frowning slightly, but Momo is looking at her, her lips pursed. “You don’t, do you? When was the last time you went on a date? Have you even seen anyone since - ”

“Momo.” She interrupts her. “I am leaving. Got work. Bye.”

She doesn’t dare look at Ichigo, hastily assembling her books and dumping them in her bag for a change.

That night, she sits with a chocolate tub and marathons the second season of Doctor Who. Rose Tyler is on screen, her blonde locks swaying and watery brown eyes staring into the Doctor’s as she bids him adieu. Rukia notices how innocent the colour can look from the right angle.

Somewhere in between, she signs up on the _Dysfunctional Soulmates – Life outside a Soul Bond_ forum.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She thinks she won’t write in the notebook that night. But then she does. She writes it, then circles it once, twice, and thrice till the paper thins and nearly tears.

It reads _34\. Dense. Horribly, terribly, devastatingly dense_. _A woman could seat herself in his lap and he would politely tell her she’s got the sofa wrong._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Dear Rukia,_

_Thank you for joining our forum. We welcome you among us. We all are one._

_We all are you._

_On this forum, you can meet many others like you. Read their experiences, take lessons, share yours. Since it is your first time, we can only imagine how difficult the journey so far must have been. We are here for you. Here for you to share your heart._

_It is not impossible to live a life without a soulmate. And it is also not impossible to live your life with your soulmate, in a platonic relationship. It is all about diverting your mind, about focusing your energies on right aspects._

_The first step to recovery starts with Acceptance. This has happened to you. You have a soulmate. Accept it._


	5. And The Other Shoe Drops

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

_This is the way the world ends,_

_not with a bang but a whimper_

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

 

Kaien had once told Rukia that his favourite character, if he had to choose in all the literary fiction he had ever read, would be Catherine Earnshaw.

Rukia had looked up from her books, scrunching up her nose. “Seriously? The singularly poignant character embodying the root flaw of humanity?”

Kaien had laughed, crossing the room and towering over her. “Selfishness is integral to survival. You know every action is motivated by a desire for self.”

“I am not arguing altruism with you.”

“It must be beautiful, up there, amidst your folks.”

She had stared at him. “Catherine is a terrible person.”

“Yes,” he had agreed. “She was terribly flawed, and so terribly human.”

“Oh my god. Let me count -  She left the man she loved for wealth, comfort and security, tortured the man she chose with some misplaced sense of dominance, doomed the love of her life to never be rid of her reins, and set the worst possible example of a mother, daughter and wife!”

Kaien had raised an eyebrow. “Freud would say those are rather strong feelings.”

“Your point?”

“Why do you think she did whatever she did?”

“Um, I think I just enlisted every-”

“Outside of the realm of obvious bias, I mean.”

“Then forgive me, I am so terribly human that it is impossible for me to give an opinion that is not coloured.”

He had rolled his eyes before dropping next to her, looking at the blank peach wall opposite them. “People say many different things. Some say it was a selfless endeavour on her part to help Heathcliff rise, some others like you,” here he had given her a lopsided grin, “think she left him for material riches.”

“I think,” he had resumed, pausing a little, “she was scared.”

Rukia had tried imagining that. “Catherine. That Catherine Earnshaw who brought everyone on their knees. Was scared?”

“Their love was a lot of things – a religion with only the two patrons, a life-force dependency, a transcending isolation – but amidst all of it, it was also powerful, encompassing, ethereal. It was vicious, terribly passionate, like breathing in flames. They could not stay away, nor could they stay together.”

Kaien had been almost quiet, staring at the wall. Rukia had never seen him like that before. “I think we love in various ways. With some romantic, some others a protective pledge; with some at a distance, with some in a startling display of nakedness. And it always flourishes with time, growing and evolving into its mould. Catherine didn’t get to choose the mould, but she decided to twist its growth the way she thought she could survive.”

He had looked at her and smiled. “This practice is more common than you’d think.”

She had nothing to say back then, and even now, years later, on days with grey skies and slow subways, she sometimes thinks about it.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Momo makes a plan to the annual Comic Con, dragging Rukia and Renji along.

She is not very surprised to find an impatient looking Ichigo-Ishida-Orihime trio outside the venue.

The Holy Trinity. That is what she is going to call them, Rukia decides. She is not even mad at Momo. She needs to start getting along her plan, her plan of sticking with Ichigo long enough to make herself sick of him. So, so sick that she can pass by Orihime instead of pausing and just wondering. So she tugs on Ichigo’s arm, pulling him inside against grunts and protests, dragging him to every stall she thinks will annoy the ever loving daylights out of him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Rukia rolls her eyes. “Exploring Comic Con? Looking around? Bringing light in your dreary, dark world?”

He is scowling at her. “You are going to rip my arm off.”

She looks at his arm, at the particular point on his muscled forearm where her spidery fingers are splayed, digging into the muscles. She is wondering just when she got comfortable enough to hold his hand without dying of a heart attack, when there is a flash and it is suddenly Byakuya’s arm, the one with the hole in her memories, and there is bile rising in her throat. She drops his arm like hot potatoes and digs her fists into the pockets of her shirt. _Breathe in, breathe out, this world is different._

Ichigo is looking at her, his eyebrows doing that weird thing where they communicate an ocean of words, and all she can read in them is his weirded-outness at her strange behaviour. He wouldn’t have noticed her minute meltdown, of course, because he doesn’t care.

Oh yes, she thinks. This world is different.

She gives him a bright grin, pointing at the _Attack on Titan_ stall nearby, and dragging him towards it – by the sleeve of his hoodie this time – and he grunts, annoyed, trying to shake her off. They explore the Comic Con this way, a pair in an ocean of hundreds, bickering and arguing.

“There is no Chappy stall here,” she observes around an hour into their pushy foray indoors.

Ichigo snorts but before the snarky words are out of his mouth, she has elbowed him in the ribs.

“Maybe we could look in Exhibit B?” Orihime chirps up from somewhere behind them, over the sound of Ichigo swearing. Rukia had thought they all had been left behind in the crowds, but apparently Orihime had been able to make her way over. She is smiling at Rukia, and Rukia tries returning it.

“Yeah, we could.”

“I am not going there.” Ichigo says, shaking his head. From the space in the crook of his arm – which he has placed on his hips, and Rukia is _so_ going to give him hell for this later - Rukia sees an irate Renji pushing his way through the crowd towards them, Ishida and Momo flanking him. She shoots him a grin when his eyes find hers, and the glower on his face grows in a manner that Rukia finds Chappy levels of adorable.

She will never tell him this, though.

“That your friend?” Ichigo asks, and she looks up to see his face turned to look at Renji.

“The best one,” Rukia nods, and Ichigo is looking at her, the weirded-out look back on his face.

“What the hell,” Renji greets, wheezing slightly, bent on his knees next to Ichigo. “You whooshed like a damn tornado-”

“I am a _wanderer,_ ” Rukia interrupts him singingly, and it is worth the grimace on Renji’s face and the smile on Momo’s, who sings in continuation. “I am a one-night staaaaaaand-”

“Don’t belong to no city, don’t belong to men-” Orihime joins in, giggling along.

“I am a violeeeeence-” Rukia stomps on Ichigo’s foot when he snorts, “in the pouring raaaaaain-”

And then all three females are singing loudly, almost yelling in Renji’s ears, “ _I am a hurricane_!”

They are laughing, Renji is scowling, Ishida is sidling away from them, Ichigo is staring at her, and Rukia thinks it’s a great day.

The feeling lasts for about a few minutes, till she notices Ishida walking beside her where Ichigo should have been, and her searching eyes finally see him at a _Leekman_ stall, patiently listening to something Orihime is spastically pointing at.

“She likes him,” Ishida says.

“I figured,” Rukia replies back, tearing her eyes away from where Ichigo seems to be almost smiling. She nearly walks into the teenager ahead of her, who turns around to give her a dirty look.

“What are you going to do?” Ishida is looking at her, his eyes trying to find something on her face.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Am I supposed to do something?”

Ishida is silent. Then he is saying, “Well you could always try.”

“Are _you_ really saying that? You, someone who is working on how to break Soulmate bonds?”

“Well, before giving up and trying to run off, shouldn’t you give it a try?” he snaps back, blue irises flashing angrily.

“How did that work out for your father?” Rukia asks him quietly.

There is silence, stark and sharp in the noise that is filling out the whole auditorium. Ishida is no longer looking at her. She is not going to take it back, though.

She waits for a few beats, before sighing. “If Orihime likes him,” she starts, voice slow and steady. “It has nothing to do with me. Especially since he is my soulmate.”

This is the first time she has said the words out loud, and it takes her breath away, the weight of those words settling on her world and tilting it ways off axis. It feels like a release from the darkness of an iron cage into a bigger glass box, opening up to a world that is filled with the sun and light and birds. It is beautiful and tragic all the same, this weighing awareness, and she wants to fall on her knees and cry.

But she straightens further, pushing down the messy wails within, continuing steadily. “Besides, my feelings are superficial. It’s like there is a separate person within me, who has these memories and feelings and attraction, none of which are mine.”

“So you feel nothing for Ichigo?” Ishida asks, eyes back on her face.

Ichigo is almost behind them now, matching his pace with Orihime’s, and his features look so soft, softer than any expression she has ever seen there. There is a vague feeling that she has seen that face before, in another lifetime maybe, but in this life, that face is not for her.

There is a lump in her throat, and her voice is cracked when it comes out. “Nothing at all.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

That night, she writes, _37\. Hot. His skin emits heat like a furnace._

_It burns if you keep holding on too long._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The group outings become a norm of sorts. Apparently Momo and Orihime really hit it off, so now Orihime is everywhere. When they are studying, when they are leaving the campus, when they are catching dinner in a diner on a weekday.

Ichigo is also, surprisingly, there. And they both are together, almost always, Ichigo silent and Orihime chattering away. Sometimes Rukia listens, about the robots and space aliens and spinning leeks. It throws her off, someone as random as herself, and Ichigo’s poker face through all of it is officially the most impressive feat she has ever seen him perform. He manages to keep that face through tasting trials of Orihime’s cooking, but somehow, a word from Rukia is enough to break a scowl through it.

Orihime’s cheeks are always warm, even through the somewhat lukewarm March-April, her eyes never leaving Ichigo’s face unless he looks back at her (in which case she loses her voice and starts flailing.)

Rukia can empathise with her.

Ishida joins them over sometimes, surprisingly always choosing the seat next to Rukia. They have a begrudging acquaintance, knowing too much and too little about each other all the same. Rukia tells him about her notebook one afternoon, when they run into each other on the campus, and he stares at her for a full five minutes, before chuckling a little and shaking his head. She thinks he is going to tell her how dumb it is, that you can never hate your soulmate, but instead he tells her about his father. About how he met his soulmate, how he had a brief fling because she didn’t want to stay, how he was born from the doomed romance, how she is living in the other part of the world and his father is here, in New York, struggling with the idea that ordinary soulmate-less humans can love, sometimes a lifetime and sometimes a few moments.

She hears the words he does not say – _He is still waiting, a part of him, for her to return to him._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She meets him in the cemetery.

It is a shock, a shock of massive proportions, because visiting Hisana is too close to home and Ichigo is the last person she would want to see (of course not, that is a lie) but there he is, three gravestones away, eyes rimmed red. He hasn’t noticed her, so she wraps the scarf closer, sitting in front of Hisana’s grave.

And she sits there, remembering, Ichigo fading away to a blot on the horizon, and eventually, nothing.

(It is funny, how after months of being the star burning bright and hot at the centre of her universe, he is now the twinkling sparkle on the horizon. Subdued, but on the edges, ready to flare up anytime.)

This is the one day of the year she allows herself to grieve. To feel the full brunt of Hisana’s absence, the absence of her embrace, her smile, her voice, her footsteps, her being.

She thinks of the time Hisana chased her around the mansion in New York, yelling threats of sending her to a boarding school. Of the evenings she would make rice dumplings when Rukia would return from calligraphy classes, all fatigue and frowns. Of the nights Hisana would comb her hair, laughingly narrating Byakuya’s subtle romantic gesture of the day. Of the mornings Hisana would wake her up and drag her to the Judo hall.

She thinks of Hisana on the bed, pale skin stretched over bones, a strong smell of antiseptics and medicine and death in the air, among all the white.

The day shifts from early afternoon to dusk, but she stays. It is not enough, a day, a week, a month, a year or a century to reminisce on the few years she had the chance to live and love Hisana. She doesn’t touch her cheeks; she knows there are tears, they have been filling and rolling down all day long.

When her phone rings, she blinks, looks at the sky. It is dark, an unearthly shade of darkness, and her phone reads _9:05, Brother (1 missed call)._

She stands, looks at the gravestone one last time, and turns to leave. Ichigo is standing right there, a few paces away, staring back at her, face drawn slack.

They look at each other a few moments longer, till Ichigo is walking up to her, and in her space. He stops shy of a foot, his eyes falling on the tombstone.

“My sister,” she croaks out, suddenly realizing her voice is coarse.

He looks back at her, eyes drawn in a slight frown. Then he nods once. “My mother.” He says.

She wants to tell him he didn’t need to, he doesn’t have to, but there is no energy in her body, no strength to speak. So she nods. Her eyes flit to the gravestone three paces away. “She was beautiful,” she adds, remembering the poster.

Ichigo laughs softly, a little too breathless and wet. “You said this that day too.”

It is the first time she has heard him laugh, even if it is not a happy one, but it feels like walking into the sunset after a long day, like warm cocoa under rainy skies and it is captivating, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way the lines on his forehead relax. “Seems like I make a habit of repeating the obvious.”

He is smiling a little now. It is a day of many firsts, and it could not have been on a worse possible day. “Did your sister look like you?”

There is a twinge, but her heart is filling with so much warmth, the way it does when she relives her memories of Hisana. “People used to confuse us for twins, even though she had a good many years on me.”

Ichigo nods his head, and then they are silent.

“Dementia took her away,” Rukia finally says.

Ichigo looks surprised, and Rukia feels his surprise coursing through her. She doesn’t know why she told him, but the air is strange tonight, and she feels like she has no more emotions left to spare, not for the night. Tomorrow they will go back to what they have always been, an over eager Rukia and an indifferent, pulling away Ichigo, but tonight they are in a different dimension, hurting from their losses and sharing comradeship in the kind of heartbreak that stays for a lifetime.

“My mother died in a car accident.” Ichigo says after a heartbeat. His mouth opens, as if to add more, but then he snaps it shut.

Rukia stares at him, at the expression she sees every morning in the mirror, and the words are tumbling out before she can stop them. “You feel guilty.”

His face is closing up now, alarm ringing in those wet eyes, and Rukia says nothing more. But she says something anyway, after a few moments. “Her death is not your fault.”

Anger is taking over Ichigo’s face, and Rukia almost regrets saying anything. _Almost_. “What do you know about it?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I might know a thing or two about it.”

His eyes are wide, and he looks like she turned his world upside down.

“About guilt over someone’s death.” she adds, watching as his expression falls.

“She died trying to save me. I had plugged in my headphones, and not noticed the car speeding-” he cuts off, stomping his foot on the ground. His palms are curling into fists from where they are hanging on his sides, and his eyes are shining a little too bright.

Rukia has a sudden flash of the shiny headphones Ichigo carries around everywhere with him, like a sacred gift, but never once dares to put on. “She died trying to save you,” Ichigo’s face is drawn in angry lines now, “But he died because I killed him.”

The anger vanishes and Ichigo’s eyes are squinting in confusion, mouth slightly ajar.

“She died saving you Ichigo. Because she loved you. You owe her a happy life. So don’t. I on the other hand,” Rukia really needs to do something about this evaporated brain-to-mouth filter of hers, but the words are crawling out of her chest from where they have been stowed away for years. “I killed him. I shot him square in the chest, right there, in the middle of the street.”

“I killed your uncle, Ichigo. I killed Kaien.”

She can’t wait around to hear what Ichigo has to say, or worse, show in his face, so she turns and rapidly walks away, vanishing in the darkness.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Renji finds a girlfriend in May, a tomboy who kicks ass and has more leg days in the gym, and it seems to be the season of romance for Ichigo and Orihime also find partners.

In each other.

It happens very subtly. And honestly, Rukia should have seen that one from a mile away.

Ishida is walking with her on the street to the library, where they have temporarily shifted study sessions due to the café undergoing repairs, and Renji is at the entrance, waving an impatient arm their way. Rukia rolls her eyes, is pretty sure Ishida does the same, and is about to make a snarky comment, when she sees Ichigo and Orihime on the other side of the street, right behind Renji. She worries, for a moment, because since that night in the cemetery she has skilfully avoided running into Ichigo, but her concerns seem misplaced for they are oblivious to the presence of others, engrossed in a conversation. Ichigo holds out his hand, and Orihime is blushing, her hands covering her face, but somehow she manages to put a hand in his outstretched one. Her smile is blinding, it is spilling off her face, and Ichigo is smiling slightly.

“Rukia.”

Someone is calling her name, she thinks it is Ishida, but then it may be Renji too, his voice raised octaves and she wants them to shut up, what if Ichigo and Orihime overhear, what if their moment breaks?

But they can’t hear anyone it seems, Ichigo walking up the street, towards her, his face leaning towards Orihime, probably tuned into her chattering.

There is a nail twisting in her chest, something somewhere must be bleeding because, oh god, there is pain, there is so much pain, her chest is being ripped, and Renji should really stop shaking her, he is going to break something within her-

And then Ichigo looks up, the smile vanishing and face frowning. The way it does whenever he looks at her.

And Rukia realises everything within her is already broken.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Once, somewhere between the group outings becoming a norm, Rukia had a conversation about soulmates with Renji and Momo. It had been a late night in the café, all three trying to cram for the assignments the next day.

“What do you think you did wrong?”

The question had come out of the blue, and Rukia had fixed Renji with a blank look, mentally putting aside the woeful tragedy of _Odyssey._ She could see confusion on Momo’s face from where she had been seated next to Renji, opposite Rukia in the café.

“With Ichigo, I mean.” He had clarified, probably sensing her confusion.

She had wanted to hit him, preferably with something that would do some damage. Here they had been, getting along, not thinking about Ichigo but Renji just had to go and ruin it.

She had sighed and rubbed the skin between her eyes. “Honestly? I am not sure.”

“That day, when we read up on it,” Renji had picked up after a moment, leaning on the table. “It said people get into soulmate bonds as a punishment for having betrayed someone who loved them.”

“Most betrayals fall in the category of cheating – having an affair, or having fooled your partner with ulterior motives.” Momo had added, and on seeing Rukia’s expression had defensively flailed her arms. “What? Of course I would read up on something that affects my friend.”

Rukia had leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest. The café had been silent, since it was eleven in the night. There was only a middle aged lady sitting one table away and a waiter wiping a few tables away. “Which one of the two do you think I did?”

Renji had snorted. “I can imagine you having an affair.”

“I married _you_ in my last life. If anything, I would have cheated on you with Ichigo.”

“Did you? ’Coz I gotta say, this is one hell of a bitchy thing to do.”

“Of course not, moron. If I had cheated on you, wouldn’t you have been my soulmate?”

Renji had stayed silent as Momo spoke up. “Were you in a relationship with Ichigo?”

“It doesn’t look like that. From all the flashbacks I’ve had, Ichigo and I seem like friends. Comrades, even.”

Momo had started frowning. “So you were not in a relationship? How did you ever betray him then?”

“I have no idea. We seem like friends, and so far I haven’t seen any epic fight memories.”

“Rukia,” Renji had suddenly spoken up, his voice surprisingly quiet. “You know what they say about flashbacks?”

“What about it?”

“A person with a soulmate will flashback on the moment of betrayal as soon as he meets his soulmate.” Renji had looked at her. “ _Why has that not happened with you?_ ”

Rukia’s heart had started racing. “What do you mean?”

“The first time you met Ichigo, you flashed on a memory of a conversation with him after both of your marriages. There was no conflict, no argument, no climatic moment of betrayal. And since then, you have been having flashbacks about him. Usually when you meet him. Right? But _this is not how the soulmates bond works._ People only flash once, the first time, when only the moment of betrayal comes to them.”

Rukia and Momo had stayed silent, echoing the steadily becoming eeriness of the café.

“Since you were born,” he had continued, looking at Momo, whose confusion seemed to be mounting, “You have been able to flashback on almost every significant person in your life. It’s almost as if everybody from your previous life has been reincarnated along with you, in similar roles. You have even lost the ones you lost in your previous life, again, in similar ways.”

She couldn’t breathe. He was talking about Kaien and Hisana and himself and Rukia. Could. Not. Breathe.

“It is almost as if everything in the Universe has coincided to put you in the same life, same situations, among the same people.” Momo had started whispering. Her gaze stayed on Rukia, slight fear in them. “ _How many reincarnations did it take to gather everyone again in the same place_?”

“Exactly.” Renji had agreed, nodding his head. “You, in fact all of us, have probably lived and died before. In which lifetime did you betray him? And why can only _you_ flash back on the people in your life? And why have you not flash backed on the moment you betrayed Ichigo?”

Everyone had been silent. Till Rukia had begun to speak.

“I think,” she started quietly. “It was not one moment in which I betrayed him.”

Renji had started scowling. “What are you-?”

“Renji, that memory of you proposing me. That memory of Momo talking about soulmates. Of my brother talking about his love for Hisana, of Ichigo’s dad staring at me leaving, of Ishida talking about my wedding dress, I think they all are related to what happened between Ichigo and me. I think these flashbacks are trying to show me what happened, what went wrong, because it didn’t go wrong in one moment, it was wrong _all along_. Something I did, something I said, on that one, final day – in an action I probably didn’t even realise the gravity of – was a culmination of all these little moments.”

There had been silence till Renji had spoken up. “Do you know what was wrong?”

“No,” Rukia had truthfully responded.

Now when she is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes blurred, images of Ichigo’s frown from a few hours ago and his smile from another life in which he had loved her flitting in her brain, she realises that maybe she is beginning to understand.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_Acceptance has various stages. The first one is accepting that you have soulmate._

_Second is accepting that you did nothing to deserve it._

_It is very easy to blame yourself, because that is inherently human. We hate ourselves, loathe ourselves, and tend to seek validation for the same from others. We want to be treated bad, be looked down upon, be told we deserve what we get._

_This is not true._

_You are not responsible for your actions in your previous life. That was a different era, a different life, different circumstances. You will never be able to relive it, to see the whole picture, so don’t blame yourself without even giving yourself a chance._

_We accept the love we think we deserve. If you think you deserve hatred, how will you ever learn to accept someone who might come along and love you?_

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand the other shoe drops. Everything is beginning to fall in place and fall apart. Fun times. Do let me know what you think! :D


	6. Safety In Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos, guys! This is the penultimate chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

_Your head is a living forest,_

_Full of song birds._

_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_

 

 

Rukia skips her classes the next day.

It is a Friday, and the weekend is right here, so she gets three days to get used to existing in a world where Ichigo and Orihime are together.

Renji shows up at her apartment Friday morning. She doesn’t have it in her to argue, to even speak, very honestly, so she moves aside to let him in.

They order takeout, and he puts on the Doctor Who series. They watch it, and somewhere in between Rukia falls asleep, her head nestled on Renji’ shoulder. When she wakes up, it is late afternoon, and Doctor Who is still playing, Martha screaming as her motorcar flies through crab claws, and Renji is right there, his arms wrapped around her frame.

She is disoriented, but her eyes are growing warm, there is a burn behind them, and she wills it away. She eats what is left of the pizza they ordered – which is unsurprisingly, not a lot – and they resume sitting in silence.

They sit that way till night, when Renji gets up to cook something for them. Her hands let go of him from where they have been clutching his t-shirt, and she watches him disappear into the kitchen.

Renji is handsome, and kind, so kind it hurts, and good-looking, and her best friend. He is home, her childhood, and she wishes her heart could see all of him in a different light.

But there are bright amber eyes, crackling with an underlying darkness and virility, and they have consumed her heart, her body like a disease. It overwhelms her in that moment, just how chaotic it is within her, and she pulls up her knees, resting her head on them and shielding her face with her arms.

Her throat is parched, so she looks around briefly and spots her favourite chappy mug – the one where Chappy is wearing black robes and swinging a sword - sitting on the table. She had made Hisana buy it on a random window shopping trip. Her ten year old self had not known back then that the black robes were reminiscent of the Japanese death god she had once been. But something about Chappy adorned in those familiar black robes and swinging a nostalgia inciting pale sword, white as the snow outside in winters, had resonated within her tiny body and she had stuck to the window display, face and all ten fingers splayed against the cold glass.

Her arm stretches out to pick it, but it slips through her fingers and falls on the tiled floor, shattering into pieces.

She stares at it for a moment, and then both her hands are touching the pieces, trying to reassemble them. But the pieces have sharp edges, and they break the skin of her fingers, drawing blood. She ignores the prick, unsuccessfully trying to put it together anyway. But the pieces keep slipping, keep drawing blood, and no matter how hard she tries, she cannot put back the mug.

But then there is a tanned hand hovering over the mess. Renji is there, picking up the pieces and carefully placing them on the table. He lets Rukia place the ones in her hand, not once taking them from her, and then all the pieces are on the table. Her hands are bloody, bloodier than his, and the colour is so fascinating, the dark red against all that pale white. Renji is looking at her and Rukia is reminded of the way Byakuya sometimes looks at her on Kaien’s death anniversaries.

“We will fix it,” he is saying. “It will be back to the same as before.”

Rukia nods, but she knows better.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She doesn’t cry, not once.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The weekly mailer comes, and this time it is about co-existing.

_You think it is impossible,_ the mailer reads, _that you can never be at peace in a world where your heart is theirs and theirs is someone else’s, but that is your mind rejecting change. When people die, their loved ones grieve and mourn and shun society for months; sometimes even years. They are scared not because they have to live in a world that is absent of someone they once loved; but because they are beginning to realise they are moving on._

_Everyone moves on. Some do it faster than others. But change is the axis on which this Universe rotates._

_So start with believing. Believe you can change. Believe you can move on._

_Believe they are not the only one for you._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

For the first time in months, Ichigo runs into her on the campus.

She is walking towards the Mythology lecture hall, watching her steps, the grass squishing beneath them, when she hears him call her name, and she looks up to see him standing in front of her, three steps away, staring at her.

She wants to laugh. All those months of stalking, covertly waiting for him to find her, for him to look her way and he finally does.

Ichigo is giving her a nod. “Hey.”

She stares at his face, at the slight crease at the corner of his eyes, the few strands of his hair standing up awkwardly. Her eyes are getting warm and she thinks _shit, it’s like bladder training all over again_. “Hey.”

There is silence and unlike all others, this is extremely uncomfortable. Rukia is already looking over Ichigo’s right arm, trying to get her mouth to spit an excuse past all the sand and stones in there.

“You staying here during the break?”

All motion ceases and Rukia looks at Ichigo. Had he just tried making conversation? “Yes?”

Ichigo quirks an eyebrow at her. Rukia makes another effort. “Yes.”

It is still lacking in assertiveness but seems enough for Ichigo since he asks no further questions. But he is looking at her, eyes studying her almost objectively, and Rukia’s heart is flipping again.

_Orihime_ , she chants in her mind, and her heart stops racing, disappearing somewhere deep within her being.

“I have to go,” she hears herself saying, vision blurring. “Got a lecture. See you!”

She thinks Ichigo is calling out, but she doesn’t want to hear his voice. She sprints off the campus, onto the street, but his voice continues echoing through her.

It is the first time he has ever called her _Rukia_.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She is not in the mood for Judo, so that night she puts on her karate gear and starts practicing the routine she has known since childhood. Her hands fly around in practised motions, legs whipping all the styles of attack and defence Hisana made sure she learnt. Yelling the counts and grunts comes easier than other days, and so Rukia screams her throat out with every chop, kick and block.

She keeps screaming long after the chops kicks and blocks have ceased, screaming into the late hours till she falls asleep on the floor, wakes up the next morning and starts all over again.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

It is the weekly Thursday piano night at _Hollow World_ and Rukia slips in through the entrance at a few minutes to eight, nodding at the bouncer who gives her a small smile. The bar is relatively empty, few office goers milling about and catching up over clashing mugs of beer. There is dim lighting all about, just the way Rukia prefers, and she adjusts the noodle strap of her lilac dress, making her way around the chairs to the piano majestically standing in the corner.

“The redhead isn’t coming tonight?” Tony asks from behind the bar, wiping the counter. The bar currently boosts of one patron but she knows it will be filled in later tonight, long after she is gone.

“He has a date,” she tells him, waving a hand in greeting. A man crosses her path, giving her a not so subtle once-over. She needs to get to the piano faster.

The blonde bartender whistles, his hands noiselessly placing a beer mug on the counter. “Damn. I thought for sure you’d be the next one.”

He knows better, and yet, he says this every time. She climbs the step and crosses over to the piano, shouting back, “Not in this life!”

Her fingers flex as she takes a seat, breathing in the musky air about. This little part-time gig had started a year and a half ago, when Renji had brought her here, to his favourite bar in town. He was a regular and knew everyone, from the bouncers to the bartender – all six of them - to the regulars, the weekday and weekend ones. Five shots and three beers later, she had been forced to play by a very drunk Renji and an amused Tony. It had been a few minutes, but Tony and the bar manager Gavin who had ‘conveniently’ been in the bar that night (Renji often tells her she needs to believe in the Universe, and she laughs every time), had fallen in love with her piece and pestered her to come play on some nights. Since then, it had become a routine.

She glances at the sheets, raising an eyebrow when she sees November Rain. She looks up to glare a little at Tony, who is already sporting a sheepish smile. “Knock yourself out!”

She rolls her eyes before flexing her fingers and wiggling them, before softly placing them on the keys. They hit the first note, and then the second, and then the notes are blooming from where her fingers hit the keys, unfurling all around the bar, making its sharp corners and hard lines a soft glow. She sees a few faces looking at her in acknowledgement, the chatter dimming and rising octaves in a rhythm of its own.

Sometime later in the evening, a couple gets up and starts doing a messy waltz. They keep missing the beat, and the man stomps on the woman’s feet several times, but their faces remain close, laughing and flushed. There are wolf whistles and claps from all around as people start joining in, the cacophony of their tapping and singing nearly drowning her piano notes.

Her eyes find the couple again, and she sees the man do a spin to fall in the woman’s arms, their eyes only for each other. For a moment she sees a different couple, one with orange hair, the other with black hair, their mismatched heights making their waltz an awkward one, both arguing and hitting each other, but there is a small smile on the boy’s face, his eyes never leaving the girl. But then she blinks, and that couple is gone, in its place is the original messily waltzing couple, both ginger heads.

Her eyes find the piano keys, and stay there for rest of the evening.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She has been practicing karate for two weeks now, and screaming for another two.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_People use various methods to move on. They live in denial all their lives, or hypnotize themselves into believing whatever makes living easier. Some move away to different states and cities, some keep trying till the very end._

_We are no experts, and everyone has their way of coping, but if you are someone who has not been able to find a method, an outlet for those feelings, the best way to tackle it is to focus on yourself._

_Not the person. Not the feelings. Only on you, yourself. Find yourself again. Rediscover things you have always loved, things that make you happy._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Renji takes her to meet his girlfriend on Monday night.

They all are sitting at a table in a fancily lit bar, which makes for very bad first meetings and she tells Renji as much. He, of course, hears nothing over the blaring music but his girlfriend Tatsuki does, smacking his head and shaking hers at Rukia. Tatsuki is a slender, pretty brunette with lean muscles for arms, and sarcasm for armour. Renji had been smitten with her from the first time he’d set his eyes on her, in his part time stint at her father’s fitness centre.

Rukia likes her, and seeing their heated arguments, bent heads and secret glances, she thinks maybe Renji won’t have to look anymore.

She rubs her shoulders. It would have been wise to wear something warmer than a sheer top.

“My best friend will be here in a bit,” Tatsuki is saying, her face slightly flushed. Rukia catches Renji nonchalantly trying to draw the beer mug out of her reach. “She studies on your campus. You might have met her? Her name is Orihime, she recently -”

“Hey.” A voice interrupts, and all three of them look up to see a man leaning against their table. He is dressed in a classic black shirt, blue jeans, black hair gelled up in the semblance of a Mohawk and light, pretty sea-green eyes lit with a smile. His hands are occupied with beer mugs, his strong cologne filling Rukia’s nostrils as he wafts closer, but he is undeniably attractive. And he is smiling at her.

“So I noticed you third wheeling this very engrossed couple,” he starts, vaguely gesturing his mug at Renji and Tatsuki, the latter of whom is eyeing him with thinly veiled interest. Pretty Eyes’ is looking back at Rukia now. “Wanna give them some space and join me for a conversation over drinks?”

Rukia raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t drink.”

“At all?”

“With strangers who waltz to tables with overconfident swaggers.”

Pretty Eyes nods. “Okay. Just conversation then, about how to get pretty ladies with sass to accompany you to drink soda. You game?”

It makes her smile a little. Renji is scowling at Pretty Eyes as Tatsuki keeps staring, having lost the last thread of conversation, and Rukia is decided. She pushes herself off the chair and takes a beer mug from him. “You better have more conversation material than that.”

Pretty Eyes is grinning as he directs her towards the bar. “You wanna talk politics? Or nerd?”

“You know the Daleks?”

“You know the Master?” he fires back.

“Okay you pass.”

Pretty Eyes takes back the mug from her hand and places it along with his on the bar, doing a mock fist pump. “This might be the happiest I have ever been about passing!”

The guy is cheesy, but he has managed to make Rukia smile for the first time in a week. She orders a Mojito, taking a seat on the high chair. “So,” she starts, fixing him with a smile. “How many round the bush endeavours to your name?”

“Zilch. Stephen,” he says, taking the chair next to hers and pushing his hand forward. “And you are?”

“Rukia,” she quips, taking his hand. His palms are warm and slightly wet from the condensation on the beer mug. “I have to say, Zilch is a strange first name to have.”

The guy rolls his eyes, and she can’t resist saying, “It’s too early in your game for you to roll your eyes at me.”

He grins at her. “Apparently not early enough for you to showcase your lameness.”

“I am sorry, I thought you were the one trying to get company for drinks?”

His eyes fix on hers, and the light from the flickering disco bounces off them. “I did. And now I am trying to get to know my company better. So tell me, what do you do Rukia?”

She takes a sip from the mojito the bartender has pushed her way, the taste of lemon filling her mouth. “Studying psychology at NYU. I was in business before, and decided to switch.”

Stephen studies her face. “On a scale of worst-night-of-my-life to best-decision-I-ever-made, how mad would you be if I asked you your age?”

“Mm. I guess let’s-pretend-this-never-happened-and-you-are-good mad?”

He gives her a two finger salute. “A-word is forbidden from here on.”

Rukia rolls her eyes. “We are good as long as you are not a minor. What do you do?”

He tells her about the subjects he teaches at Eleanor Roosevelt, and they laugh a little about the student dramatics he faces every day. The music is too loud so they have to lean closer, their faces close enough to brush. He is well-read, a gentleman with a good sense of humour and she thinks that maybe this is just what she needs.

“Nirvana is the love of my life,” he says, gesturing to the bartender. “Like, since I knew what that even meant.”

Rukia shakes her head. “I don’t understand. What is so great about metal? Is it a genuine guy thing or an adherence to social constructs?”

“Is there a difference between the two?” he smiles, and Rukia grins at him.

They clink their glasses together, the drinks sloshing noisily, and he tells her about the time his first crush caught him peeing in a plant, how much literature references make him throw up a little in his mouth, why argumentative people make him want to pet their heads. She tells him she is a sucker for Shakespeare devotees, that the best debates are those which evoke the most reaction, that she can’t remember the last time she had a crush. He tells her he never knew violet was such a beautiful shade, and she tells him she understands, that she never knew amber could be so fiery.

At the end of the night she waves him goodbye, one hand on the bulge of the scribbled paper in the pocket of her jeans – Stephen had insisted he was bringing back old school – the other on the edge of the table Renji is seated at. Tatsuki has excused herself to go to the washroom.

Rukia looks at Renji. “Are you a metal fan?”

He gives her an odd look. “No?”

“Do we know any guy who is?”

“No?”

“I thought so,” she says, looking at Stephen’s retreating back. Her fingers slip into her pocket and she crumples the paper.

Renji opens his arms, making his best ‘aww’ face and so she punches his side.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“You had a good thing going with Stephen,” Tatsuki tells her on the phone the next day, amidst constipated apologies for ‘being a drunken mess’.

“I know,” Rukia says.

“Are you okay? Your voice sounds really sore.”

Rukia caresses her throat with the hand that is not holding the phone. “That’s my morning voice.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

_It can be the book you read every rainy day. Or the band you never miss a single gig of. The friend you perpetually live with, or the gardening that soothes your nerves._

_Find it. Start investing your time in activities which are a part of you._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“I think the power in my eyes has increased,” Rukia tells Momo over coffee one weekend.

Momo raises an eyebrow. Her hands are splayed on the table, folded paper napkin boats arranged like a cavalry on her right. “I didn’t know you had power.”

“I do,” Rukia tells her. “I have glasses too but don’t wear them since it isn’t that problematic. But I think I need to get them rechecked.”

“Do they keep watering?”

“They sting too. And not just when I am reading or staring at something.”

Momo looks around them, at the other people in the café. Her eyes find Rukia’s. “Maybe it is a symptom, but not of the problem you are assuming.”

Rukia looks Momo in the eyes for a few moments, eventually looking back at her coffee which has gone cold. This has been happening a lot, and it is beginning to annoy Rukia. “I have made an appointment for tomorrow.”

She meets the optometrist the next day, and he prescribes her glasses of the power she already has.

He also gives her the calling card of a counselor which she crumples and throws in a bin outside the clinic.   

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She has run out of screaming now, and so now after finishing her routine she just kneels and drops her head in her lap, closing her eyes and letting the wet warmth heal the burn behind them.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

There is a day-long workshop titled _Soulless-ly Soulmated_ being held in the city that week by Dysfunctional Soulmates, and Rukia decides to attend it. There is a conference room with a board titled _Where Are We From?_ and she goes for it first.

“To know where we are going,” the speaker is saying, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat on her upper lip. “We need to know where we came from. The origins of this phenomenon remain largely unknown. Scientific research places it on hormones-”

Rukia slips out the conference room a few minutes later and enters another one that reads _Rediscovering Happiness_.

“I know you guys hate being told this for the millionth time,” the man is saying, kind looking eyes crinkling at the edges. “But your happiness is not in a person, a thing, a moment. It is within yourself, in your own company, within the confines of your own mind. This may dampen a lot of romantic notions you may have always held, but it is true. Are there people who complete us? Nope. Are there people perfectly compatible with us? Nuh-uh. But there are people who love you, people you love, relationships you form, and memories that give you heart in the darkest moments.”

She corners him when almost the entire room is empty, and asks him the question that has been on her mind all these days. “How do I get rid of the memories?”

He smiles at her. “The old ones or the new ones?”

She is about say _duh, the old ones_ when she realises she doesn’t know which ones she is talking about. There is an Ichigo from another life in the back of her mind, but there is another one now, one who listens to metal music and takes his coffee black and frowns at her all the time and gets into petty wars and blurts out unflattering remarks and silently absorbs cruel words and ignores her and grins like a three year old and _oh my god,_ Rukia thinks, _how did I get into this?_

“If it’s the old ones,” the man resumes speaking, “they are not your memories. They belong to someone who lived a life in a different time, in a different world and had regrets they ended up passing on. The new memories though, they are yours, and don’t let them become regrets the way they did the last time.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She reduces her karate hours. They go down from four to three, and eventually to one.

The screaming stops too. It stopped long ago, but now she no longer has to fight it.

She googles and contacts the man with kind eyes, Maxwell, and he takes her along for his seminars. Initially, for the first two weeks, she observes him, observes the people he addresses. The third week he invites her to share her experience, and her hands start shaking. She has been in endless debates and elocutions, but never one where she’s had to share such a personal part of her.

She refuses him the first time, the second and the third, but the fourth time in between his session he crosses over to her side and puts the mike in her hands. So, she gets up, mind a blank, till she is in the centre of the stage. Several pairs of eyes are tuned on her being, and the emotion she sees in them breaks something within her, causing the words to tumble out.

They are hesitant, flustered words in the beginning; but eventually they pick up pace and she starts talking till her throat goes dry.

The first time she bares her heart, it is to the world sitting in the tiny room.

And then it becomes a habit.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Renji attends a session. His face is a blank when it ends, and she walks up to him, a big smile on her face.

“How was it?” she asks, hands nervously fluttering by her sides.

He says nothing, but gathers her in his arms, his own almost crushing her.

Mysteriously enough, when Momo attends one of the sessions, she does the same with tears in her eyes.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Ichigo is in the coffee shop when she walks in, the bell chiming behind her. His eyes are downcast, fingers typing away on his cell phone. It has been a whole seven weeks and four days since she last saw him, but not even a second since he last crossed her mind. He looks the same as he did before, infuriatingly impassive and heart-throbbing-ly handsome. She absently wonders if he noticed, her conspicuous absence from every part of his life that could possibly be connected to hers.

It nearly makes her laugh. She has a long, long way to go.

She walks to the counter, places an order for her coffee, and walks to his table. He looks up when she is two steps away, eyes widening slightly and the frown lines disappearing.

“Hey,” she says.

He nods at her. “Hey,” he rasps.

“Your voice sounds weird.” She tells him, pulling at her sleeves. “Got a cold in this weather?”

“It’s nothing,” he rasps again, his mouth settling in a frown.

She throws a ticket at him. “We are going to the movies tonight. Be there. Reach Momo and Orihime if you want to can the plan.”

She turns away and hears him say, “You came all the way here to give me this?”

“Rukia!” comes the yell from the coffee pick-up counter and she nods in that direction, walking away from him. “I came for the coffee.” It is a white lie, but one in the list of many he will never know.

The barista looks at her with confusion when she picks her coffee. “No death god this time?”

She takes a sip and smiles a little at him. “Not anymore.”

When she turns around to exit the shop, Ichigo is still looking at her, so she gives him a small wave. He doesn’t wave back, but his eyes go back to the tickets in his hand.

She turns away and rubs at her eyes which feel warm. Her heart is even warmer though, almost as warm as her skin in the May sun.

If he could spend an entire life happily loving her in silence, she could do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will contain parts of Ichigo's POV. And a surprise :) Stay tuned!


	7. The Other Side

_**Here it is!** _

_**So I know I said this was gonna be the last one, but it's actually the second last chapter guys.** _

_**Was a little confused about the posting for a while. Till** _ _**Snow Rukia** _ _**inspired me. Thank you so much!** _

_**Hope you all like it. Last chapter's on the way.** _

* * *

_Nothing is in the middle of somewhere,_

_surrounded by everything,_

_where everyone is someplace,_

_and still lacking the someone_

_I need most._

* * *

Ichigo used to want things.

He remembers being a fussy kid with no end to wanting. The teddy bear, the pens that would light up in the dark, the power ranger t-shirt, the bright green blanket. His little fingers would run over everything, caress them with unbridled desire, clutch at them with anticipation. There had been nothing he hadn't wanted, and the universe would always conspire through his parents to place it all at his tiny feet, and in his small hands.

He never thought of wanting sisters, but the first-time twin chubby fingers grasped at his cheeks, he decided he couldn't  _not_  want them. These little angels would be there, right next to his favourite toys and books, safe and secure and his. Once again, the universe had brought him gifts he hadn't known he could even want.

And then, one day the universe decided he had wanted enough, and took away his mother.

He cried, prayed, begged, put all his little treasures at god's altar; but the universe didn't return his mom. His favourite teddy bear, the pens that glowed, the power ranger t-shirt he wore everywhere, the torn blanket he hugged to his chest every night – it all fell short. He looked around and waited for someone to tell him how to bring back mom, and why nobody was trying to find her on the road where she had lain, and what was wrong with his  _father_?

But his sisters had no answers, only voiceless wails; his father had no time that wasn't spent in the clinic or tending to his sisters, and so Ichigo started keeping to himself, holed in the four walls of his room, thinking. Thinking about the last time he saw his mom, trying to burn her smile into his memory and drive the phantom of her blood-streaked body out of his hands; about what he did wrong, why his mom had to go, why he couldn't get her back, why they had to go buy those headphones and why he had to put them on his ears –

And then he realised.

It was because he had wanted too much. He had always, always wanted, and the universe decided he had wanted long and enough, and it was time for him to give back. If he hadn't wanted, he realised with tears in his eyes, he would have been in his mother's arms, telling her about the bad girl hurting him with karate chops. She would have run her fingers through his hair, rubbed her cheek against his, made him a warm cup of hot chocolate, and sung him to sleep. Now he had the coolest pen to brag about, the cutest toy to play with, the snuggest blanket to snuggle in, but no one to share them with.

He had always wanted, and where earlier wanting something would fill his little heart with happiness and hope, now it spread the searing fire of pain and yearning and guilt under his skin all through his body. He had been selfish, selfish enough to sacrifice his mother at the altar of his never ending wants.

So he stopped wanting, stopped desiring. He didn't deserve it, he was tainted in the sin of greed, and would forever carry around the hollow in his heart as a selfish penance.

Now Ichigo no longer wants, no longer remembers what it felt like to desire something with anticipation and not dull misery flowing through his veins.

x-x-x-x-x-

Just because he doesn't want, doesn't mean things don't come to him.

His family surrounds him every morning, Yuzu with her warm meals, Karin with her homework, his dad with his clown antics. They should hate him, should throw him out, but instead they give him a home and a hearth to return to.

Ishida comes to him, frowns and condescension galore, makes him feel stupid about existing. They fight like sworn enemies, and never agree on anything. But Ishida still sits next to him at lunch every day, waits for him at their meeting point on the way to campus, orders his customized coffee before he arrives at the restaurant.

Orihime comes to him too, all smiles and kindness. She is more than he deserves, more than anyone deserves. She talks to him about her daydreams, tries reading his body language, falls in love with his jaded self. He wants to turn her down, tell her she can do better. But with shining eyes she tells him he is what she wants, and well, he knows a little about that, so he gives in.

They all come to him, they all try giving him what they think he wants. But they don't understand that he doesn't want anything, that he would want them to not want things for him, but he can't tell them because his mouth no longer has words.

Rukia is the first person who runs away from him.

The first time he is surprised, has an absurd thought that maybe she saw through to his ugly, insatiable self. Before the thought can grow roots that dredge into murky memories of car accidents and blood streaked headphones, Ishida, who is walking right beside him, gives an interested exclamation. It is a surprise because Ishida rarely takes an interest in something, and for a random petite girl running away from him in the university corridor to incite such interest is strange.

Eventually, Ichigo begins to realise Rukia  _is_  strange.

She spends the first one third of their acquaintance running from him, quite literally, making snarky comments and looking down on him through her nose. If she is not being haughty, she is trying to pretend he doesn't exist. She makes his blood boil, an itch settle under his skin, and annoyance seep through his veins. She shows up everywhere, on the campus, in the café, once even in his house. And in spite of it all, he finds himself doing uncharacteristic things, like trying to make conversation about her book and following her out of his house to make sure she isn't crying.

Ichigo has always wanted to be hated, and now that there is someone doing that, he realises, with some disgust, that he wants to change it.

So, he stops. He stops these thoughts, tells himself he won't care, she is doing the right thing anyway, and then Rukia shifts gears. She starts coming to him, invading his personal space, asking all grades of inappropriate questions, and he keeps brushing her away. He can't understand her, can't understand her motives, and something about her feels wrong, like she is a mirage. Someone who should be there but isn't. Sometimes he feels like he sees a real person beneath those jibes and wide smiles, one instance being when she shows up at his place.

He doesn't mean to, but he ends up hearing her conversation with his father about his dead uncle. She speaks four sentences and leaves, giving him no chance to see her, but he hears the heavy breathing, the tremor in her voice, the hasty shuffle of her feet.

And then he knows that sometime in her life, she has wanted too.

He still ignores her, gives short responses, but now his eyes keep straying to her face, trying to place the faceless, vulnerable person he heard that day. He doesn't know why he keeps searching, keeps trying to catch a glimpse of that person. All he knows is that some nights when the ghost of his mother clouds his vision and chokes his throat, the memory of Rukia's broken voice lets him breathe a little easier.

He thinks, later, that it is a misguided sense of comradeship. To think someone else could have wanted something and lost it and become as broken as him – it is strangely relieving. He chalks it down to empathy and there, the topic ends, he has a name to give to these feelings.

Till she ruins it with her dramatic flair.

He is sitting on the stairs, minding his own business, letting a busybody spout off his mouth – when she appears like the wind, blowing away the sheets in his book, and intimidating the random guy into scrambling away. He keeps staring at her, the irritation at his sheets being blown away becoming more irrelevant by the moment – he hadn't known the sticky-smile woman could talk in such low, seductive tones or drop such a practiced kick. Did she have martial arts training, like him? And had she- where the hell had she learnt to talk in a voice like that?

He keeps staring even as she walks off, breaking out of it when minutes later Ishida snaps his fingers.

Ichigo can feel a premonition lingering at the edge of his thoughts, but he is too occupied giving her tit for tat, kick for kick, insult for insult to dwell on it. He starts getting annoyed, starts reacting at the slightest provocation and pulling childish antics to secure the rush of triumph over Rukia. It is all very childish, and he feels like he has regressed by a decade, but then he thinks she should be more ashamed for she is two years older and yet the most childish adult he has ever had the misfortune of meeting.

And then it changes, again.

They meet in the cemetery and when he looks at her, he finally has an expression to put to the voice he heard all those weeks ago. It doesn't feel as relieving as it had back then, maybe because now that he can see her bloodshot eyes and crumbling features, she looks more human, more jaded, more broken. She tells him she killed his uncle, and he doesn't believe that, wants to ask her about it, but then she says something else that hits him like the car that should have all those years ago.

"She died saving you. Because she loved you. You owe her a happy life."

In all the years that Ichigo has hated himself for wanting something, for wanting those headphones, for wanting to see his mother just one more time, not once has he thought about his mother. What had she wanted?

Had she wanted him to live?

He can't think straight, stumbling in his rush to get home, and once he does so he finds and confronts his father.

"Why don't you blame me?!" he screeches. "You should hate me. Hate me for taking away mom!"

His father looks up from the paper. His face is carefully neutral. "Why should I? That isn't what she wanted."

Ichigo stops breathing. "What did she want?"

"For you to be happy and safe," his father says, looking back at the paper and grinning slightly. "It was all she ever wanted, and fortunately for her, while she was alive she got that. She died protecting you because she wanted you to live, so if you want to give her back something, live a happy life. And a longer one than your old man."

His father leaves the study, locking the door behind him, and Ichigo stays there the whole night, silently crying and gasping. His mind is a chaotic mess, his world tilted off its axis, and for once he stops trying to realign it to what he knows and instead to what the people in his life have been saying all along - his father with his words, Ishida with his eyes, Orihime with her smiles, his sisters with their embrace.

By the time morning dawns, his tears have dried and he can breathe again.

That day, he steps out, decides to maybe find Rukia, but Orihime finds him and-

-and he gives her what she wants.

x-x-x-x-x-

He can breathe easier, hate himself a little less, but a sin is a sin, and he has promised to never sin again.

x-x-x-x-x-

He sees Rukia around, but not as often as before. Their paths no longer cross, and he begins to wonder if the only reason they ever did in the first place was because she sought him out. He runs into her on the campus once and once in their usual café. She still smiles at him, still laughs at him, but there is something irreversibly damaged and distant between them. He has never understood her before, and sees no reason to try doing that now, so he doesn't.

He tries giving Orihime everything she wants. The alien movie she wants to see, the anklet she drools over in the mall, the recipes she wants someone to taste. He thinks Orihime is happy, because she smiles and blushes and laughs and expresses gratitude.

It makes him think of how different people can be, of how if it was Rukia, what an ungrateful little twat she would be. She would probably rub his romantic gestures in his face and never let him live down the cheesiness. He can almost see her frantically denying the blush on her face, slyly comparing his home to her extravagant brother's, laughing  _at_  him instead of with him the way Orihime does.

He kisses Orihime, hugs her, gives her piggy back rides. It feels nice, doing something for someone, being the reason for the smile on someone else's face. Orihime always asks, shy and introverted, and it makes Ichigo appreciate her even more. Some people he knows would definitely demand to be kissed, to be hugged, to be paid attention to.

He really doesn't deserve someone as nice as Orihime. But she still wants him, still cherishes him, still finds her happiness in him, so he has no reason to feel otherwise.

So, it is a bolt out of the blue when three months into their dating Orihime takes him by his hand and sits him down.

"Ichigo," she begins softly, eyes on the hands in her lap. "I think we should break up."

Ichigo blinks at her. "I am sorry, what?"

"I think we should break up," she says again, voice firmer.

"Um," he doesn't know how to respond. He should probably feel more shocked, more upset, but all he can feel is surprise and a strange sense of guilt. "Have I done something wrong?"

Orihime shakes her head. "No. You never did." And then she laughs a little, no traces of amusement in her voice. "But maybe I did."

"What do you-"

"You don't like me." Orihime interrupts, looking him in the eye. "Do you?"

Ichigo wants to tell her that of course he likes her, everyone likes her, she is one of the kindest people he has ever met, he doesn't deserve someone like her-

No words come out of his mouth. The way she looks at him lets him know that she has taken her response from his silence.

He tries again. "Orihime. You are a good person. Everyone likes you. You are kind and happy and positive."

"And not the person you want." She completes for him. He stares at her, unable to understand where she is going with this. Didn't she want to be with him? Hadn't he given her that?

"I," Orihime begins, only to stop. He realises her voice choked, and the trembling of her lower lip makes his heart turn lead. She takes in a deep breath, fanning herself a little before taking his hands in hers. He can see the tears in her eyes. "I have always liked you. Since the first time Tatsuki introduced us, I have had a crush on you. And I have always watched you from the side-lines. And now, I saw my chance, so I took it. I thought it didn't matter, as long as you said yes and were okay with me. That maybe I could make you fall in love with me, over time. But Ichigo," and here her voice breaks. "I can't be with someone who doesn't want me."

Ichigo has to say something. He has to tell her- what, he doesn't quite know. "I-"

"You don't want me," she repeats, one of her palms rising to rest on his cheek, "and that is okay. It is okay for us to want different things. It is okay for you to not want me, to not give me what I desire. A relationship cannot be a one-way street. You give and you take. You desire and you be desired. I can't keep taking and you can't keep giving. Please learn to take, even if it is not me you want to take from."

Orihime withdraws her hand, getting up and wiping her face with the back of her palms. "I am very thankful that you agreed to be my boyfriend and gave me such amazing memories. My first love came true." She smiles at him. "I think you should go for yours. From experience, I can tell you that even at the risk of being shot down, you might just be pleasantly surprised."

She walks away from him, one step at a time, leaving him sitting still on the bench.

x-x-x-x-x-

Rukia had once asked him about his favourite dish. He had given her a rude response, but she had been persistent.

"What is it? What do you like?"

"I don't know," he had resignedly grumbled, fruitlessly trying to focus on the book in his hands.

"You don't know?" he had looked up to see Rukia cock her head to the side, arms folded on the table at which she sat across him. "How can you  _not know_? You are just trying to evade my question!"

He had rolled his eyes. "Don't know, don't care."

"What did you like eating as a kid?"

He had thought over it for a few moments, before nodding. "Chocolates. I guess. But every kid-"

"When was the last time you had one?"

He had blinked at her. "Um. I don't know? Who keeps a track record of these things?"

Rukia had clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "That's so stupid. I didn't know you were such a wannabe adult."

He had socked her under the table with his foot, and she had retaliated with plastic cups at his head. The conversation had been entirely forgotten till the next day, when he found a Mars' bar waiting behind his coffee cup. Ishida had raised an eyebrow, he had rolled his eyes, and then the bar kept showing up in study sessions with Momo, in picnics with his family, on his desk in the lecture hall. He had rolled his eyes every time, given Rukia the stink eye, and stored all the Mars in the fridge.

Now, a day after the bombshell that Orihime drops on him, he finds the tiny pile of chocolates staring back at him. He finds himself reaching for one, tentatively, rolling off the wrapper and taking a bite. It has been years, years and years, since the familiar sweetness has enveloped his taste buds, and he almost groans.

He had almost forgotten the taste, and completely forgotten the desire for something he had loved as a child. But now he can't stop munching on the bar, can't stop himself from reaching out for another one, and now there is a lump in his throat that he can't swallow.

Later that evening, when he is licking off his fingers and fighting the beginnings of indigestion, he stops and stares at his fingers. He keeps staring till Yuzu pokes him curiously, sending him off in the direction of the washbasin on seeing his smudged fingers.

Ichigo hasn't wanted anything in a long time, has forgotten what it feels like to want something.

But when he looks at Rukia, thinks of her, his heart trips a little over itself, the flames of the dirty fire underneath his skin cool into the warm aura of a pyre on a cold night, and he thinks, this must be what want feels like.

x-x-x-x-x-

Tatsuki groans. "What is it with people making stupid decisions?"

Ichigo really doesn't want to listen to her. But he has no option because they are in the bus and the next stop is still five minutes away.

"It seems to be a bad time for females," she continues. ''All of them turning down love prospects."

"I thought you were going to hit me," Ichigo says, quiet and careful.

"It's not your fault," she mumbles, looking out the window. "So, what are you gonna do now?"

Ichigo stares at an ice cream vendor haggling with a little kid. "Study? Terms' around the corner."

There is a pause, and then Tatsuki groans again. "God, it's not just women. Stupid time for men too!"

x-x-x-x-x-

Ishida drags him to a massive banquet hall. Ichigo has never been fond of seminars, and he finds himself struggling to find a way out of there.

"Sit here," Ishida says, shushing him when he opens his mouth to protest. "I need an objective viewpoint for my project."

Ichigo is going to speak anyway, but then a voice booms over the mike and his head snaps to the stage.

It is Rukia, small and violet eyed and smiling, shining in the spotlight.

"So, I guess it is my turn now," she speaks into the mike, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have a soulmate too."

Ichigo tries to catch Ishida's eye, who is dutifully nodding in Rukia's direction.  _The bastard_ , Ichigo thinks,  _there is no way he didn't know_.

He hears Rukia talk about her soulmate, his love for another, her yearning for him, for a love that will never be. Faces flash in his head – the red head freak friend of hers, the white-haired boyfriend of Momo, Ishida – and it is with great surprise he realises that that is as far the list goes. Who else does Rukia know, and who could she be talking of?

It makes him think of other things. Of Rukia's birthday, her favourite sport, her hobbies, her best friends, her worst childhood injury, things she is bad at – and he realises he knows nothing, nothing outside of what she has chosen to show him.

His eyes find her again as she keeps talking, hands gesturing and face blank. All the expression is gathered in her eyes, where there is a glean of tightly held emotions. Her voice is fluctuating, often stable but it breaks once when she speaks of her journey.

"You can control many things in life," she is saying. "but emotions are not one of them. There is nothing more liberating than turning around and looking them in the eye for what they are. Maybe you don't want them, maybe you want to throw them away – but you could also embrace them, focus on the sensation and let it run wild through you. Let it free, let it run, let it have a go, till it exhausts itself or till you make peace with it."

He stays till the end, when the hall bursts into applauds, Rukia setting aside the mike and politely shaking hands with an old man on the stage. Ishida is saying something, but Ichigo can't hear him, another face suddenly flashing in his mind – that of his dead uncle's.

x-x-x-x-x-

Ichigo has heard of soulmates before. He never believed in it, because it seemed absurd. Why would the universe do that to you? How would that even work?

But when he hears Rukia speak, hears her words gloss over the breaks in her voice, he finds himself wondering. He thinks of his uncle, of his uncle's wife in the grief of whose death he went insane, of the little girl his relatives had whispered about shooting his uncle in self-defence, of Catherine Shaw whom Rukia hates with incredible passion.

And he thinks,  _wow_ , that is a long time to have loved someone and hated yourself.

x-x-x-x-x-

That night he lies down, closes his eyes, and lets himself want.

He imagines pale hands running all over him, mirthful laughter muffled in the crook of his neck, frail arms locked around his neck, stray raven hair strands on his pillows, chappy mugs in his kitchen, a song hummed every morning in the shower, soft lips pressing insistently against his, and a warm body lining against his under the blankets every night. Imagines Rukia draped around him, over him, under him, pale legs tangled in his tanned ones.

He knows he is too far gone, has known for a while now, and it is only a matter of choosing.

Hamlet had a real dilemma, he can see now.

x-x-x-x-x-

* * *

_**So. What do you think?** _

**Author's Note:**

> Do leave reviews!


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